Vir Lath Sa'vunin
by Zaretia
Summary: Celes,servant girl of the Howes of Amaranthine, King's Consul, finds herself thrown into a series of events that unveil following the blight. Post-landsmeet. POV of plot characters and OC Warden. Rated M from chapter 16.
1. Halfling Commoner

_**Author's Note**__: This is my first serious fanfic~ Hope you all enjoy it. I wanted the first chapter up as soon as possible, but will update soon after my exams. Betas are welcome. As are all other suggestions and feedback._

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"_Join us, brothers and sisters._

_Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant._

_Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn._

_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

_And that one day we shall join you."_

"How did I get myself into this…?" Celes thought as she was approached by the Warden-Commander. She grimly took hold of the chalice, and looked down at its deep crimson contents, allowing her gaze to flicker briefly to her side where her fallen companion lay. The little voice in her head whispered, "You have nothing to lose…" She held the rim to her lips, and drank.

**Two months ago…**

"Move faster, you worthless piece of scum!" She was always yelled at by Thomas. It was uncommon, and she should be used to it by now, but it never ceased to rile her up just a little. Celes was a servant girl of Arl Rendon Howe, in his estate in Amaranthine. The Arl was in his Denerim estate at that moment, preparing for the Landsmeet.

Celes was a child of a human-elf union. Such unions were traitorous, as the children of these unions were always human, and the elves were slowly dying out; as a result, her father had been exiled from the Dalish community to which he once belonged. Her mother hailed from Ayesleigh, but she had not known either of them for very long before they were murdered near the outskirts of Lothering.

Barely 7 years old, Celes had watched the bandits rape her mother while she hid in the bushes and her father weeping, begging them to stop. It had been a beautiful autumn day, with leaves the different shades of orange littering the trade route alongside Lothering. But all Celes could see was her parents' blood pooling around them, staining the leaf-strewn path deep red.

She did not understand what happened very well. But daddy had said "Don't come out! No matter what happens, stay hidden!" And she did. It wasn't long before the bandits left, and the terrified little girl crawled out of her hiding place and stumbled over to the cold, lifeless bodies of her parents. "Daddy…?" She prodded her father experimentally. His body was cold, but his eyes were open, staring blankly into the distance, and it scared her. She turned and looked at her mother; mommy was always angry with daddy for some reason, but now she was so quiet… and calm. "Wake up, mamae…"

It was at that opportune moment that a carriage, occupied by the Howes of Amaranthine, appeared at the end of the road. Celes was hugging her father's cold, dead body, and failed to notice the Arlessa stepping down from the carriage and approaching her. What happened after that was a blur of tears and shouting, as she was unwillingly pried away from her parents. The Arlessa had persuaded her husband to take in the poor orphan girl to serve as a maid in the estate; and she had been living that life ever since.

She arrived at the estate, confused and crying. Celes found a comfy companionship with the Arl's youngest daughter, Delilah, who was the same age as her, despite the disapproval of her father and older brothers. It took some time to reconcile herself with the loss of her parents at such a young age, but her life was good in the estate with the Arlessa caring for her as if she were her own. But all good things had to come to an end when the Arlessa contracted a mysterious illness when she was ten, and slowly wasted away, finally passing when Celes was twelve… Then came the abuse.

"What's happening?" Her mind was whirling in confusion as the Arl forced himself on her over and over again. She did not understand. It hurt, but why wouldn't he stop? She cried, but why didn't anyone help her?

_Knock-knock-knock_.

The sound of the door-knocker brought her back from the present, and she realized she had been standing at the front door, hand on the knob, for Maker knows how long… She turned the knob, opened the door, and was greeted by the sight of a messenger at the doorstep.

"Yes?" Celes did not think the messenger was worth announcing to the rest of the family in the estate. "I have important news for the Howe family." The messenger announced curtly, before engaging in a glaring competition that made Celes relent and let him in.

It was not long before the Nathaniel, Thomas and Delilah had all gathered in the sitting area around the newsbearer. He had a stiff expression, giving nothing away until, without warning, he unrolled the missive and stated, "The _late_ Arl Rendon Howe has been found guilty of high treason and is branded a traitor to Ferelden. Amaranthine is forfeit to the throne. All inhabitants are to evict the premises within 5 days. That is all." And as soon as started, he had finished; then turned quickly and left, undoubtedly an attempt to avoid any 'unpleasantries' that would be bestowed upon him by the late arl's children.

Celes looked around the room to see the reactions of the 3 suddenly orphaned children. Nathaniel looked dumbstruck; shock clearly splayed across his features, his jaw slightly open as if to call out to the messenger, but could not find the words. Thomas had both hands running through his hair, eyes wide in disbelief, and had fallen to the floor after his knees gave way. She searched Delilah's face for clues that would give away her feelings, but could find none; her face was emotionless, as the revelation sank into her, it was as if her ability to feel had been numbed to her core. Even though Celes detested the Arl for obvious reasons, it hurt to see her friend's emotions fade away in the few short moments after the announcement of her father's death. She moved forward ever so slightly to touch her arm, and that's when the screaming began.

A chilling, deafening scream pierced through the ominous silence in the air. Celes withdrew her hand from Delilah's arm to cover her ears as she realized the sound was coming from the woman beside her. Delilah's eyes were shut tight as she clenched her fists beside her face and screamed. She screamed for her father's death, for her lost titles, and the home she would soon lose. She screamed for her bleak-looking future and her family's shame, and she screamed because she did not trust herself to stay sane if she kept everything inside any longer.

When she finally stopped, Thomas lowered his hands from his ears slowly, "Maker's breath! Delilah, are you trying to rob us of our hearing too?" Shamefaced, she looked up and started to retort, "I…"

"No. We need to stick together now more so than ever, as a family." Nathaniel spoke up. He was firm and trying to be strong, being the eldest and all that. The other two looked to him with deference and desperation, for guidance, for hope. "First things first, we need to tell everyone else in the estate to leave too." He cast a sideways glance to Celes, who had been observing the whole play out of events with interest. "That includes you, Celes. You have to go."

Then it struck her. She had to leave. She was… Free? But where would she go? She had no money. She had no family. She had no other expertise. "I… see. Then leave I shall, ser Nathaniel." She gave a short curtsy and retreated to the servants' quarters where her room was, ignoring the curious glances from Delilah and the servants of the estate.

It didn't take long to pack up what little belongings she had, a few sets of clothing, her favorite flute, and a dagger she kept under her bed for protection. Hoisting up her pack, she looked around one last time at the room she spent the last 13 years of her life in. "Nary a good memory to take with me. Figures." She mumbled under her breath and strode out to the master bedroom.

When she left, Celes had in her pockets roughly 10 of Arl Howe's rings. "_Nothing_ compared to what he took from me," she thought bitterly and grabbed a handful from the mantel in his bedroom. After filching some bread and cheese from the larder, and an injury kit from the storehouse, Celes set out the backdoor, not wanting to face the prying crowd gathered outside the Arl's estate.

Don't look back…

She kept walking.


	2. Freedom

The sea breeze licked her face gently as Celes walked along the harbor, towards the inner city of Amaranthine. Her slow trek to the city gave her time to think about what her next step would be. "I suppose… I would not be so fortunate as to be found by another noble." A dry laugh escaped her as she pondered the irony of her 'fortune'. "I… will travel to Denerim. There's always work to be found there."

Of all the various job opportunities that came to mind, only one appealed to her. She had set her mind to work towards becoming a proper mercenary; there were mercenary guilds in Denerim, after all. Her stride brought her to her destination, The Crown and Lion. She pushed the tavern door open and walked inside as she would have done any other ordinary day. But on that day, she felt all eyes in the room turn towards her.

At the age of 20, the cusp of adulthood, Celes had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. She had inherited her mother's long, flowing dark ebony hair that fell softly down her left side, slightly shielding her eye from the gaze of others. She had her father's deep emerald eyes, those any man would gladly find himself lost in; and her height was less than that of the average human due to her father's Elvhenan blood. She had Rose coloured lips, soft, with just a hint of overbite that added to its fullness. Undoubtedly, she drew attention to her whenever she was sent on an errand into the city, often to the tavern for supplies. But this time, she doubted it was her appearances that commanded the attention of the tavern's patrons, even Sorcha was looking at her.

All the glaring was making Celes uncomfortable. She walked straight to Sorcha, silencing her with a look and a shake of the head, and made a gesture at the backroom. Sorcha responded with an understanding nod, turned and walked; Celes followed. When the door was shut behind them, Celes let out a deep sigh, sank to the floor, and pulled her knees up under her chin.

"What happened, Celes?" Sorcha's high pitched voice floated over her head. "The whole tavern is talking about Arl Howe's death and treachery! Is this true? Tell me, Celes!" Sorcha stooped beside Celes, held her by her shoulders and gave her a light shake. "Yes." _Am I reduced to one-word responses now?_ Celes shook her head for some semblance of clarity, looked Sorcha in the eyes, and said, "A messenger came, from the royal palace in Denerim. He said… He said that the arling of Amaranthine is now forfeit to the crown. Apparently, there was some form of treachery involved."

She had known for a very long time. Celes had the ability to conceal herself in the shadows, something she discovered very shortly after Arl Howe's first night visit. She would keep herself hidden, in dark corners of the room and it was as though she had become one with her surroundings, able to avert even the cleverest eye. It was this ability that allowed her to listen in on the Arl's conversation with his guards one day, a bit more than a year ago, discussing how best to siege Highever.

"Treachery?" Sorcha examined Celes' face for more details, as though the answers were written there. With a resigned sigh, she continued, "Yes, treachery. I never told anyone, but I overheard the Arl discussing plans to take over as the Teyrn of Highever. I suspect the estate fire in Highever was his responsibility." With nothing more to add, she pulled her legs in closer to her body. Sorcha's mouth rounded into an understanding 'oh', then sat down beside her.

Moments passed and Sorcha was getting restless. "What are you planning to do now?" _Might as well get all the questions out of the way._ "I will… travel. To Denerim. I may be able to find work there. As a mercenary, maybe?" She let the sentence hang.

"But, Celes, there are bandits roaming the trade routes! Or even worse, darkspawn! You can't go alone," she said. "Well, I'll just have to learn how to defend myself then, won't I?" She forced a smile. "I don't suppose there are any fighters in town who would teach me to wield a sword, hmm?" It was a futile question, one from which she expected no answer. Sorcha scratched her head, "Oh! There has been a woman… I can't quite remember her name, but she calls herself a duelist. Her ship, _The Siren's Call, _is docked by the harbour. She might be a corsair, but she could help you out. Maybe teach you a few moves?" Sorcha smiled, pleased with herself. "And I should just traipse into this… this pirate ship, then?" The smile widened. "Oh no, no. She comes into the Crown and Lion every night, she does. I think barkeep has a crush on her. Keeps having me ply her with drinks, on the house, mind you." She giggled, and Celes joined her at the thought of that grumpy old dwarf blushing at the sight of a pretty corsair.

"That's settled, then. I'll return this evening to see if I can get her to teach me how to defend myself in the Wilds." Celes started to stand up. "In the meantime, I think I'll pay a visit to Glassric. It wouldn't be nice to ask for training without a weapon." She dusted off her skirt, and started heading to the door. "I'll see you tonight, Sorcha."

"Oof." Celes found herself pulled into a surprise embrace. Sorcha had come up behind her and given her a big hug. She smiled. Sorcha had always been like a little sister to her, it would be disheartening to leave her behind. "Thanks for everything, Sorcha." She returned the hug and left.

The backdoor shut behind her as she exited the tavern and crossed the fence to get to Glassric's Wares, the local smithy. Glassric looked up as he saw her enter, "G'day to you, Celes. Whaddaya want?" Celes nodded at him and returned the greeting. "Hello, Glassric. I'm here to… trade." Her eyes refused to meet his after he arched his right brow in suspicion. "Ah, well come on over then." He dropped his steel and hammer and waved her over.

Celes walked over to the counter at the side of the store as Glassric wiped his sweaty hands on a towel before joining her. "Sit down, sit down, girl. So tell me, what do you have to trade?" Shifting slightly in her seat, Celes reached for the rings in her pocket and pulled out a few. "How much would these get me?" she asked.

Glassric frowned as he picked up one of the rings for closer examination. "Ohoho… One would wonder where you got these from, girl. No matter." He dismissed the origin of the rings as soon as he raised the question. "These are highly valuable, lyrium branded rings. Except that one, of course, it does not have the faint blue glow of the others, but still…" Glassric pointed at one of the less spectacular rings, which had a silver sheen to it, and runes carved into its inner rim. "Hmm… Curious, indeed. This ring has elven runes carved on it. Perhaps you should hold onto this for the time being. I cannot say for sure its value, but I'm sure the smith in Denerim could help you. Ol' Wade is a smart one, he is. Always dealing with rare and magicked armours of all sorts." He set the ring back down, waiting for a response from Celes. When he received none, he continued. "I can give you twenty sovereigns for the other rings. Lyrium branded items are rare indeed."

Celes had never held more than 2 sovereigns in her lifetime, and even then she was running an errand for the arlessa. She quickly agreed. "I trust your appraisal. Twenty sovereigns for the rings then." She picked up the ring with the elvhen runes on it, and slid it on the middle finger of her left hand. It was almost as though the ring adjusted its size to fit her finger, as it could be put on with great ease. However, her thoughts were interrupted by the soul-lifting jingle of coins as Glassric dropped a pouch on the countertop. After counting the coins, she nodded and thanked him. "I would have mentioned this earlier, but I need a light weapon." Glassric looked at her curiously. "I also need a bow and some throwing knives." She added after a thought. Papa used to be a hunter in his tribe; he must have used a bow. As for the throwing knives… Well, she had to have _something_ to do in the kitchens when waiting for the Howes to finish eating. She had practice.

Glassric rose from his chair and went to the end of the store where some of the equipment lay on display to gather a few items. He then vanished into the back of the smithy, and reappeared holding a dagger which had symbols adorning its pommel, hilt and blade. He returned with the goods, laid them out on the counter, and proceeded to explain his selection of weapon. "So… I'm assuming you will be travelling." Celes nodded. "Well, it is not my place to question. But know this, these are dangerous times, and only a fool goes venturing out of the city walls without proper equipment. This here is the Talon of the Skies." He picked up the engraved dirk. "A beauty, she is. Some traveller sold it to me some many years ago. She got her name from the symbols here, you see. Symbols of the Avvar goddess, Lady of the Skies. Fool didn't know its value at the time, gave him 20 silvers for it." He let out some strangled mix of a cough and a laugh. "Well, take it, girl. You're too petite for the long swords."

"I… Thank you." Celes reached out for it. "Hey, you don't think you're getting it for free, do you?" Glassric clutched the blade to his chest. "Have you any more of those fancy rings?" Celes sighed and reached into her pocket and removed the remaining three rings she had meant to save for emergencies. "You're a shrewd merchant. Two rings for the dagger and that backpack. Leave the armour, it looks made for a dwarf." And right she was, as the armour was too heavy and too small for her. She stood and walked to the displays, eyeing the equipment as she went. "I'd like these throwing knives too. Seems you don't have any bows… Pity." She turned and asked, "Do we have a deal?" Glassric nodded.

Celes was looking at the display at Octham's Goods as she heard someone call her name. Turning towards the direction of the sound, she saw Master Henley standing outside his shop, Henley's Apothecary, waving at her. "Celes! Over here!" Amused, she started walking over, Henley was never one to shout, nor wave at people from such a distance. He was scratching his moustache as Celes approached him. "Hello, Henley. It's good to see you." She started with a greeting, always safe to start with a greeting. "Cut the crap, Celes. I know you're leaving town." He gave her a stern look. "How did you –", she didn't tell him that. "Never mind how I knew. The matter here is: how could you NOT come to me?" _Oh no… It's the mock hurt look. Not the puppy dog eyes_… The big hulk of a man started pouting and looking at her with hurt eyes. She grimaced, "Argh… You know I hate that look, Henley. Well, I'm here now. What would you have of me?" He chuckled and took hold of her hand, ushering her inside.

"Silly girl. You know I can't have you dying on me out there." He started as they entered the shop. It was warm inside, with little bottles stacked neatly on the shelves. A small boy was picking the roots of some herb at the corner of the shop. Henley noticed this and walked over to him while Celes examined the shelf contents. "Hey there, lad. You know I can't have you touchin' every little thing in the store, much less picking off the roots of my precious herbs," he said in a soft tone. The boy smiled and held out a flower, saying "Bubbly!" Henley laughed and patted his head, accepting his flower.

"What's wrong with the boy?" Celes asked as he walked towards her. Henley sighed and said, "Lyrium poisoning, I'm afraid. I reckon he inhaled too much lyrium powder. But as to where he got his hands on that," he shook his head, "Maker knows. But back to you, girly. As I said, can't have you dyin' on me. So here." He grabbed a handful of poultices and stamina draughts off the shelves. "You'll be needing these. Also…" He went back to the boy's corner and picked out some of the roots similar to those he was picking at. "These," he held one out, "are called Elfroot. You will find many of these growing along the roads, if you know what to look for. They're used to make poultices, and I'm here to show you how."

Celes stayed at Henley's apothecary until the evening, absorbing every bit of information Henley could give her. He taught her how to make basic health poultices, how to reuse flasks, how to treat injuries and how to use poison. It was surprising that he would know this much about poisons, but Celes dismissed any stray thoughts. _He doesn't pry, and I won't either_, she thought. "I see you've gotten yourself a blade too." He nodded at the wrapped up dagger that lay beside her on a chair. "You'll need a whetstone then." He bent under the counter and picked up a rectangular case which he opened to reveal a white stone lubricated with water. "This here sharpening stone only needs water to work. Don't put oil on it, not that you would, since oil is harder to find than water, but oil would damage the stone." Again he reached up to scratch at his moustache, "Easy to carry, store and use. This stone will allow you to polish and sharpen your blade altogether. Make sure you don't lose it." He shut the case and handed it to her. Celes looked up at Henley, "Why are you doing so much for me, Henley?" His eyes softened, he laid hand on her shoulder and said, "You're a good girl, Celes. You never deserved to be a chambermaid for the Howes. I wish you well."

When Celes returned to the tavern that night, she heard shouting inside. Hesitant, she pushed the tavern door open once again and stepped inside. In the middle of the tavern, there were two groups of men shouting at each other; and Sorcha was standing behind the bar, a frightened expression on her face as she stood stiffly, holding her tray against her apron. Celes retired to a shadowed corner of the tavern and observed. It turns out one of the groups were fanatics of Teyrn Loghain and the other group were in support of Prince Alistair becoming the new king. She had not heard much of politics in Ferelden from within the Howe estate, so she listened in. The messenger who had arrived and departed earlier that day left news of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir's death at the hands of Alistair Theirin, who was to be the new king of Ferelden. _This Alistair, whoever he may be, must be a great man to command such support in Amaranthine_, Celes thought to herself. She had only ever heard of the rumors regarding King Maric's bastard son, and just discovered he was a Grey Warden as well. _This should prove interesting for Ferelden's future_.

It was just then, a dark-skinned, redheaded woman clad in a leather cuirass walked in. She carried with her 2 sheathed blades, a longsword and a poniard. She seemed unperturbed by the bedlam in the centre of the room, and walked through the middle of it towards the bar. That agitated some of the men.

"Hoi there, lady." One of the Loghain supporters shoved at her, "Ye come right in and walk through the middle of our talk like ye own the bloody place now, huh?" He grabbed her by the arm, "Ye think yer better than us?" Celes sighed; don't these men have anything better to do than pick fights with people? She was just about to get up and help the woman when she heard… "You will lose the grip, or lose your hand, ser."

Oh. A fight was brewing right under her nose. Celes reached for her knives, which she currently kept in a hidden pocket on the inside of her sleeve. The men had ugly snarls on their faces. The other group of men had retreated to the other end of the room and left only the dark-skinned woman and the Loghain supporters in the centre of the room. Celes slipped quietly into the shadows and made her way around the other side of the room behind the men.

"You'll regret saying that…" The tall man shoved her again. She was not very happy with that last shove, as she proceeded to unsheathe her sword and dagger, a wry smile on her face. "I warned you, ser." The man took a few steps back as the rest of his company fled. He scowled and grabbed the steak knife on the table. There came gasps from patrons in the tavern.

Upon seeing this, Celes launched four of the knives deftly and pinned the man's trousers to the wooden floor without his notice. The woman must have caught sight of something as she lowered her weapons and smiled. "What's this? Ye backing down now, little lady?" he put as much sarcasm as he could into the sentence. The man tried to lunge forward but could not, as his breeches were pinned to the ground. "Hur..?" He looked down. At the same moment, the woman stepped forward and gave him a swift kick below the belt in a _very _painful place. The man grunted and keeled over.

The woman threw her head back and laughed, as did most of the patrons of the tavern. Celes walked over to retrieve her knives, and as she stood up, she was greeted by a cheeky glint in the woman's eyes. "I could have dealt with him by myself. But your help is appreciated, nonetheless. My name is Isabela. Might I know the name of the person to whom I owe my gratitude?" Isabela crossed her arms over her chest. _This must be the corsair_, Celes thought. "Well met, Lady Isabela. I am Celes." Celes held the four small knives in her hand and slid them into the pocket in her sleeve. Dusting off her skirt, she smiled at Isabela and asked, "Care for a drink? I could use one after all that." Then came another laugh as she nodded and stepped over the man who was cringing on the floor. "A round of drinks for the house!" She yelled back at the bartender, who blushed, nodded and hurriedly started filling up the mugs. Smirking at the Loghain fanatics who were kneeling beside their fallen comrade, the two ladies walked to the corner table of the tavern.

When they were seated and served, Celes turned to Isabela. "Forgive me for being presumptuous, Lady Isabela, but are you the duelist I have heard so much about?"

Isabela turned to face her, "Hmm… Drop the lady bit. Call me Isabela. And yes, I call myself a duelist because I honed my skills in duels with warriors I encountered over the years. I fight with quickness and wit, rather than with brute force and strength. Why do you ask?"

"I see. I ask because I wish to learn from you." A quick, short answer. Isabela cocked her head to one side, "You wish to learn from me? Pray tell, why?" _It wouldn't hurt to tell her_. "I wish to travel to Denerim, perhaps find work as a mercenary. My employer has recently been… killed. And I find myself in need for a new purpose in life. But first, I need to learn how to defend myself."

"Interesting…" Isabela ran her eyes down Celes' body, with only the briefest of pauses on her chest. "You seem to possess a certain grace and finesse that would benefit you in learning such a fighting style. And you remind me a great deal of my last student." What is that look she's giving me? "Very well. I will teach you. But first, I wish to get to know my potential student a little better. After this drink, you will honor me with a game."

Celes laughed and lifted her mug. "Cheers to that, then."

"Cheers."

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_**Author's Note**_: _I am aware that some words may be difficult to pronounce, especially some original names. So, when I feel there is need, I will add a small pronunciations section at the end of the chapter. _

Pronunciations/Explanations: -

_Celes_ : Se (rhymes with 'sir') - less

_Elven and elvhen _: Elven is a human adaptation of what the elves call themselves, that is, elvhenan. Celes' father was an elf, and thus she calls them elvhenan.


	3. Duelist

"Ah." Isabela's expression was one of surprise, which changed to indignation, then to that of resignation. "How very… strange. I seem to have lost." She laid the cards down on the table and looked at Celes, who was studying Isabela very closely in turn.

_How do you cheat a cheater? _"Strange, you say?" Celes smiled sweetly at Isabela, "You are most confident, Isabela."

Isabela returned the smile, "Witty. I like that." She downed the mead and set the mug back down. "Ah, but it is late, and I cannot tarry much longer. As for your lesson, Celes, do meet me at my ship tomorrow at noon. I assume you possess light armor for dueling practices and a good weapon or two, yes?"

She rose from her chair and clutched the table for support. Celes rose as well, "I will by tomorrow, no less. I shall see you then, Isabela. Be well." She nodded at Isabela, who, to her amusement, started stumbling out the tavern, barely missing the wall beside the door. "Try not to fall off the docks!" Celes called out to her as she left.

Smiling to herself at the thought of a successful night, she looked outside. It was late, and she was tired; the armor would have to wait until the next day. Trudging up the stairs to the inn, she found the room Sorcha had prepared for her. An old bedroom that has seen no customers as no one would, in their right mind, wish to sleep in such a tattered old room. Its wallpaper looked like a cat had unleashed claws on it with a vengeance, the bedpost was worn down, though how, Celes did not want to imagine, and the vanity and dresser were the filthiest things she had ever laid eyes on; but it was just right, for the price she's paying. Upon entering, Celes walked over to the chair where her pack was sitting and changed into her chemise. She carried herself to the bedside, when she heard the faint sound. _Creeeaaak. _

_What was that?_ Celes looked around the room, and then continued to step forward when the creak was heard again. Puzzled, she applied more pressure onto the floorboard under her and was rewarded with the sound again. _Hmm… I'm sure barkeep wouldn't mind if I checked. Just in case there's an infestation, you know. _Rationalizing activities she'd rather not engage in was something that was being done quite often of late. She kneeled forward and pressed down on one end of the floorboard which caused the other to jut out slightly, accredited to the loose nails on that end of the plank. She then proceeded to pull the plank from one end, and brought her head lower, peering in to check underneath the floorboards.

Nothing had prepared her for such a discovery. Within the small hollow under the floors, she found a dagger. The dagger had a lilac hilt shaped and carved with the elegance of a poniard, but the blade was the length of a stiletto, but was as wide as a sword. On the cross-guard, a beautiful, seemingly flawless amethyst was inlayed. The two edges of the blade were curved inwards in its deadly beauty, allowing the sides to be used for slashing; while the point of the dagger could still be used for stabbing. The fuller of the blade curved slightly at the end, giving the blade a curved tip; and the centre ridge seemed to emanate a soft, lavender glow. As Celes reached forward to touch it, she felt the cold wisps surrounding it; making sure to avoid the blade's tip, she closed her fingers around the hilt and admired the fine workmanship, deciding that she would not need a replacement dagger anytime soon. _Lucky me, _she thought, as the dreams claimed its willing victim.

Celes rose at dawn, when the morning star had yet to rise, but its glow faintly illuminated the city. When she finished washing up and grooming herself, she went down the stairs to the bar, stretching as she proceeded. The morning crowd had not come in yet, and the tavern was empty, with the chairs still stacked upside down on the tables. Sorcha was running around dusting the corners of the walls and was just about to clean the windows as she noticed Celes walking towards her. She smiled, "You're up early, Celes." She laid the washcloth on the side of the pail. "You know, barkeep said he wanted to talk to you when you got up. But I don't think he's even awake yet."

After sharing a few inside jokes at barkeep's expense, they noticed him come out from behind the bar. "Oh dear, how long have you been standing there?" Sorcha flushed slightly at the sight of the scruffy dwarf. He let out a deep-throated laugh. "Airy nug-cuddlin' lasses," he then mumbled under his breath, "Hey, Celes, get over here wouldja?"

Sorcha and Celes exchanged a look and burst into giggles, this was the barkeep they both know and love. When Celes got to the bar, she noticed he was looking at her with intent. "So, Isabela says you need some armor? I gots just what you need. Follow me."

And they were in the backroom where Celes and Sorcha had their little chat the day before. Rustling sounds came from where barkeep was moving around the armor stands and chests. He pulled out an armor chest-piece and a belt with straps around it. Lastly, he dug into the chest and pulled out a pair of intricately inscribed leather boots.

"Here now, try these on."

Barkeep had stood there intently for sometime before Celes stared him down and told him there was 'no chance in hell' he was going to watch her change, and shooed him out. She removed her skirt and bodice, putting on the leather bandeau and the chest-piece on top of it. The chest-piece was a light sandy-brown colour, with shades of pearl and celadon across the front. She looked down and saw that it only extended to the middle of her torso. This drew gave an exasperated sigh, she shook her head and bent down to pick up the lower body piece. The belt was well fitting and could hold her throwing knives easily, and then some; she strapped it to the skirt. The leather skirt extended to her mid-thighs and ended in loose hanging straps and buckles that looked almost like cutoff belts. _Good maneuverability is always important I suppose. Then again, this is probably an excuse to see some skin. Dirty ol' lecher, that barkeep._

Celes picked up the leather boots. These looked… expensive. And foreign. She yelled for barkeep to enter. The moment he walked in, he practically salivated all over the floor at the sight of the usually modest young lady before him. "_Very_ nice. Fits you well, don't it?" He looked so proud of himself; Celes couldn't bear to pick at him for choosing such revealing pieces of armor for her. "Hmm… You don't say. Barkeep, these boots are not of Ferelden make, are they?" She held the boots up to him.

"Oh, right you are. We get trade ships in the harbor every now and then, ya know? These are Antivan boots, lass. Proper tanned leather and its pretty, too, don'tcha think?" He rested his stubby hands on his waist and nodded.

"Oh, very much so." Celes admired the boots once more before putting them on.

"You look like a proper adventurer now, lass. Anything else ye need?" Barkeep was speaking to her bosom. _Ugh._

"Err… Yes. Let me just look around a bit." Celes shuffled through the chests and picked out two leather strap and buckles she tied around her chest to sheath her daggers. She adjusted them so that the straps extended from her shoulders across her chest to the opposite side on her waist where she attached the sheaths for her daggers. They also had small pockets running along the length of the straps. _Perhaps these will come in handy someday._ She picked a simple longbow, strung with a length of sinew, carved from oak; and a quiver of arrows.

"How much are all these?" she had barkeep total the prices of the goods and paid him accordingly. _That's 4 sovereigns well spent. _

It was not yet noon when Celes left the tavern, so she went out to the empty field just beside the harbor and clumsily tested her archery skills. Though clumsy at first, she soon got used to the feel of the bow and realized she had a surprisingly good aim, undoubtedly developed through her knife-lobbing activities in the kitchens. When the sun's glare indicated noon, Celes retrieved her arrows from the tree and run-down fences she was firing at and headed to the harbor, where Isabela awaited her aboard _The Siren's Call_.

When Celes boarded the ship, she encountered a dark-skinned male, with tufts of auburn hair sticking out around the edges of the bandana around his head, and Celes estimated him to be around her own age, although he was much taller than her. He stepped forward and confronted her. "This is the ship of Lady Isabela, state your business."

"I am Celes. Isabela might have mentioned a meeting this noon?" Celes cocked her head to the right as she was refused entry yet again.

"Ah, my lady did mention a meeting of sorts… However, she is otherwise _preoccupied_ at the moment. Would you care to wait? There are seats inside the cabin." Celes raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?" _It's not as though I don't have anything better to do than wait around for this duelist to entertain me._ Celes walked past the deckhand and sat on the chair beside him. "I think I'll wait here. In the meantime, why don't we talk a bit? What is your name, ser?"

The man seemed surprised by the inquiry, but quickly replied, "Ivan. You… My name is Ivan."

"Ah, Ivan. I take it you work aboard the ship?"

Celes quickly charmed the young man and pried much information from him. She learned that Isabela was Rivaini, and that the ship used to belong to her late husband, which she inherited after he was assassinated. Ivan was fun to talk to, if not a bit shy at times. They were just moving onto the topic of Isabela's infamous pillages when the door at the far end of the ship opened and Isabela appeared, followed by… Octham? It was Octham, the grocer. On her ship. Being 'otherwise preoccupied'. _Oh Maker._

"Take care now, you fierce tiger." Isabela cooed into his ear as he stepped down the ramp, off the ship. _Fierce tiger? _Celes refused to meet Octham's eyes, as did he, while he passed her in silence.

After Octham had disappeared from sight, Isabela turned her attention to Celes. Her eyes immediately focused on her bare mid-drift, "Oh, hello Celes. Come along, come along." her voice sultry.

"Hello." She managed a hoarse greeting, still blatantly refusing to look Isabela straight in the eye, but managing enough sense to walk straight.

Isabela led her to the deck of the galleon, where there was a wide space between the stem and the stern of the ship and so they had a lot of space to move about on deck. Celes wandered over to the poop deck to admire its architecture. When she turned around, she found Isabela watching her with a grin plastered on her face. "So, how well can you handle a sword?"

Fighting was more arduous than Celes had ever imagined, but the work she had done in the Howe estate left her much stronger than the average woman on the street and wielding swords was did not prove too difficult a task. Isabela had her start with swords, they were slightly tougher to handle but the ability to fight with a sword was a necessary and useful; then moved her onto daggers, which required more swiftness and skill, ultimately, more finesse. Celes was smart and dexterous; everything she learned, she retained. _I will not remain weak any longer. _She studied under Isabela with the determination and ferocity unlike any other student ever seen. She spent her mornings practicing her archery, and her afternoons sparring and learning from Isabela. By the end of the week, Isabela challenged her to a duel.

"A duel?"

"Yes, a duel. You are more capable than you think, Celes. Honor me with a duel, for I am leaving Amaranthine soon, and I wish to test your abilities before I go." Isabela slipped on her gloves as she stepped off the rigging station and onto the deck. "Draw your weapons."

Celes stood still for a moment, and nodded. Her hands brushed over her sides where the daggers remained sheathed. "Not practice blades this time, Isabela?"

"No, but don't worry. I'll try not to draw too much blood." A wink. With that, Isabela drew her swords. She would be fighting with the same longsword and dagger she carried to the tavern the first night Celes met her.

Within seconds, Isabela dashed forward and Celes heard the whisper of the blade slicing the air beside her face as she quickly sidestepped the attack; simultaneously drawing her own weapons and stabbing Isabela in the back with the pommel of her dagger, causing her to fall forward slightly. Isabela's foot caught the ground and she turned; a graceful recovery from her stumble. She smiled, acknowledging the challenge. They both ran at each other; Isabela lashed out at Celes' face, only barely scraping the side of her cheek. Celes ducked under her outstretched arm only to rise up in front of her, holding the blunt edge of the dagger against her neck.

"Now, now… Play nice." Isabela said reprovingly and Celes forced a smile, her face hot from the blood trickling down the left side of her cheek.

Isabela's red hair billowed in the wing as she leapt onto the railing of the ship, grabbing hold of the ropes to steady herself. "That's playing dirty, my dear Isabela." Celes called to her from the deck.

She smirked and beckoned. And so Celes followed. _Are we going to play balancing now? Lovely. _

Blades clashed as they dueled while scaling the rails of the ship. At one moment, Celes thought she was about to lose balance and clung onto the ropes, only to have it Isabela cut it loose, so she jumped ship, and onto the one docked next to them, much to the surprise to their deckhands who were watching. "Maker…" Celes panted as she ran back to the edge of the ship and glared at Isabela. "Come on! I dare you!" A smug smile masked her frustration as she yelled the challenge at her mentor.

The childish challenge wrung a laugh from Isabela's lips and she hopped over to the other ship. Their match continued. As Isabela got up close to Celes, she gave the latter a lick on her exposed belly, which distracted her, allowing Isabela to trip her up. Celes fell to the floor with a grunt, and shortly after, felt Isabela's knee on her back. "Tsk. So easily distracted, sweet thing."

Celes felt her cheeks burning, not only from the blood and sweat, but from embarrassment. _She licked me. _Composing herself, she propped her torso up on her elbows and turned to face Isabela, "I concede."

"Ha ha. Get up now, sweet thing." _Sweet thing?_ Isabela got up, and held out her hand to Celes. "Best student award goes to you then, darlin'."

Celes smiled, "Best student? Surely you flatter me, Isabela. Well, and yourself. You are a wonderful mentor."

"Ah, I suppose at that. You're planning to go to Denerim, yes? Try to stay safe. Don't want you dyin' on me out there." _Now where have I heard that before? _

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon, neither do I think I will. Not after learning from you, Isabela. Worry not for me." Celes held her hand up to the cut on her cheek.

"Oh, yes. Sorry about that. Let's go get your pretty face cleaned up."

Isabela had bathwater brought up to the room in the cabin and Celes was able to relax with a nice, long bath. _This is nice. _She allowed herself to lie back and emptied her mind. When she was finished, she headed back to the tavern with Isabela. _I'll have to set out soon. No point tarrying any longer. _

That night, they drank with abandon, for the next day, Isabela would be departing Amaranthine, and so would she.

_**

* * *

Explanations:**_

_Barkeep _– I did some research and found out that the bartender at The Crown and Lion does not have a name so I cooked up this little nickname for him.

_**Author's Note: **__I just saw yesterday that I actually have people putting my story on favorite and alert! Yes, I get excited easily. I can't help it. Also, I know things are a bit slow, but such as they are at the beginning of any story I suppose. Action will come soon though. Also,__ I realized this could actually be something of a new origin, what do you think? Human Commoner. Probably not as interesting as the others though._


	4. Death

Sierra Cousland had never thought much about death. No one escapes death, save Wynne for this instance, but disregarding that, everyone will meet their end someday. The thought was disturbing. She was standing alone in silent, dark hallway, her back leaning against the wall beside the door to Alistair's bedroom. "_Even Wynne didn't have it this bad. She didn't know when she'd be dropping dead. I, on the other hand, have to welcome death as I kill the archdemon._ _Maker, decisions, decisions, it seems to be all I'm faced with these days," _Sierra thought as she bit her lower lip, anxiety threatening to overwhelm her. She shuddered involuntarily, her body unable to remain still.

"…and if you take the blow instead he loses the woman he loves. How do you think he would feel about that?" Morrigan's words echoed within her head, worsening her headache.

_Alistair… He is strong. He may not look it, but he must and he will carry on, no matter what happens. He knows his duty._ Serra took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The door opened just a crack, and she could see Alistair's fuzzy copper hair that she loved to run her hands through inch forward slightly. He peeked out to see who it was and rewarded her with a wide grin as he opened the door to let her in. "I see you can't sleep either. I also saw Morrigan outside your room earlier, and the look she gave me," he gulped and continued, "that was icy even for her. Is something up?"

Serra twisted her fingers around each other, a feeble imitation of Anora's pet habit. _How should I put this into words?_ "Alistair, we need to talk." She stated flatly.

Alistair's voice fell. "Oh. I guess whatever Morrigan had to say, it's big." He looked down at the floor for a moment and back at Sierra. "This is what I get for becoming king. Everyone always brings you the bad news." He crossed his arms over his chest, as though bracing himself for the worst, "So, what is it then? Cheese supplies run low? Did Morrigan finally decide to leave? I can take it."

And there came the humor. _That's what I love about him. _Ever ready with witty lines. "I love you. You know that, right?" her voice trembled.

The corner of his lips twitched, "Could you make it sound more ominous? Tell me, already."

"What if I told you there was a way to avoid dying tomorrow?" The words were out of her mouth before she realized.

There's the eyebrow. Alistair raised his right brow slightly, "You mean with the archdemon, right? If you mean running away, I can't do that. But you don't mean that, do you? What is this about?"

_Ugh, this is wrong. I already made him king, how can I ask him to sleep with Morrigan? And produce a child, a potential abomination, no less?_ "Forget I said anything." She needed to get out of the room, "I should go." And she left before he could say anything.

Morrigan was not happy, to say the least. She threw a fit and left, leaving Sierra feeling like an ungrateful lout for refusing her _gracious_ offer. Even as Morrigan stormed past her out the door, she just stood there, the full implication of her decision crashing down on her. "I'm going to die," saying it out loud affirmed her fears and made them real. Death was all that awaited her now. _More the fool I, to hope that Riordan kills the Archdemon, considering my luck thus far. _Tears found their way down her cheeks, and they flowed freely that night.

"The wardens do what they must, right? I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight." _Right you are, Daveth._

It was a long march from Redcliffe to Denerim. Somewhere along the way, Sierra had started to neglect her companions, withdrawing herself from human contact. And when she had a free moment, her thoughts would drift to her impending fate. There were only three Grey Wardens remaining in Ferelden; Riordan, Alistair and herself. Alistair would be king soon; he cannot be the one to make the sacrifice. It would only be detrimental to leave Ferelden in the hands of Alistair's conniving, hypocritical sister-in-law; who knows what she would do to the future of Ferelden Grey Wardens? _If I have to die, he will mourn me, but time will heal him and he will move on. He knows his duty to Ferelden. _As for Riordan, there was a slim one out of two chance that he would manage to strike the fatal blow to the archdemon, and Sierra knew it was dangerous to hope. _Better to not hope at all, than to face disappointment at the end of the day. Hmpf, disappointment. If only that was the only issue I had to deal with._

They were at least another week's march from Denerim, the troops were becoming restless, and Leliana had her hands full keeping morale up. The ragtag group's campsite was quickly becoming crowded as more and more soldiers came to listen to her songs and stories. Sierra would often sit near the back, where she would be hidden by the other men, but still close enough to hear the tales of battles and victories of the past. The men's favourite was the Ballad of Ayesleigh, written after the Battle of Ayesleigh, which ended the fourth Blight in year twenty of the Exalted Age.

"_the wind that stirs  
their shallow graves  
carries their song  
across the sands_

_heed our words  
hear our cry  
the grey are sworn  
in peace we lie_

_heed our words  
hear our cry  
our names recalled  
we cannot die_

_when darkness comes  
and swallows light  
heed our words  
and we shall rise"_

It was comforting to hear, how the grey in the northern lands succeeded in ending the previous Blight. But Sierra couldn't help but wonder if Ser Garahel had pondered his ultimate demise. He managed to unite Thedas against the Blight as she had united Ferelden, and led an army of Wardens, Anders, Orlesians and natives of the Free Marches to battle in Ayesleigh as she would be leading the dwarves of Orzammar, including the Legion of the Dead, the Ferelden Dalish clans, Circle Mages and Arl Eamon's knights to battle in Denerim. Ser Garahel had managed to keep Thedas peaceful for four ages. Surely he did not weep into the darkness during the nights leading to battle. So why couldn't she find the courage? _Father… I'll be joining you soon._ She silently cursed the fates and the die that was cast for her.

"Sierra?" She awoke with a start, her vision blurry as she caught the dim view of the fire flickering in the distance. She felt a hand on her shoulder and noticed Wynne was standing beside her.

"Wynne? I… I must have fallen asleep while Leliana was singing. I should get back–," she started to get up.

"Is something bothering you, child?" Wynne always had a way of coaxing her innermost thoughts from her. Perhaps it was her soft tone, perhaps because she was like a grandmother to her. Perhaps, she was just becoming desperate for company. Sierra halted in her steps, her body convulsed slightly from her desire to just walk away, and she turned around.

"Wynne, do you remember how we once talked about death, and you told me I shouldn't fear death if I'm happy with the life I led?" Serra sighed, and continued, "There's something you should know, well, I mean, you probably know already, Zevran knew, he said the Grey Warden always dies in the end, I... I'm babbling." She rubbed her temples with her thumb and middle finger while trying to put her thoughts into a sentence. She took a deep breath, "The thing is, in order to kill the archdemon, a Grey Warden has to strike the fatal blow, and draw the essence of the Old God to himself, effectively destroying his own in the process. This is how it has always been."

Serra looked up at Wynne, who was listening intently, her mouth pursed. "And you think you're the only one capable of doing this?"

"Morrigan... Morrigan offered me a way, to avoid death, that is. It was... I don't know, Wynne. I couldn't do it. It just seemed wrong. And now, I don't know if I made the right choice." Her voice was choking up, "I'm scared. I don't think I want to die, not yet." She shook her head and caught Wynne's understanding expression, the sadness and sympathy shone in her eyes, and the floodgates opened.

Wynne cradled Sierra in her arms until the sobbing subsided, stroking her hair gently, "Hush now, dear child." She wiped away the new tears that were flowing down her cheek. "Death... It comes to everyone. Do not be afraid. We risk our lives every day in battle, after all. Is it that much different this time?" Sierra looked up at her as she laid on Wynne's lap, refusing to pause on the different comebacks. _She could die anytime too._ "Shh... Poor dear." Wynne held her closer as she quietened down. And so she sat under the tree, holding Sierra on her lap; the only sound heard was the constant crackle of the embers.

"What's this?" Sierra lifted herself off Wynne, and saw Zevran's figure approaching them, it was so late already, _why isn't he sleeping? _"I thought we were bosom buddies, Wynne. I am deeply hurt." Zevran glanced down at the two women and clutched his chest in mock injury.

"Egad." Wynne rolled her eyes. "Not one more word of my bosom from you."

Serra giggled. _It was always funny to listen to their banter._ "So what were you two lovely ladies brooding about? Perhaps I can remedy your problems? Yes?" He rolled his shoulders. "A massage, if you wish? Or maybe you were gossiping, about me? Nothing bad, I hope." His eyes gleamed, and he smoothed his long, blond hair back.

"Yes, we were discussing designs for the skirt Wynne is making for you." A playful glint in her eye as Sierra bit back the more outrageous remarks she could have made.

"Ah, a new fetish, I see." Zevran smirked and sat down beside them. "I can oblige, for you." He reached forward to touch her cheek softly.

"Oh shove off, you. It's beats leather!" Sierra laughed, and waved his hand away jovially. _How is it he always manages to get the last say?_

Zevran threw his head back and laughed, as Wynne smiled at their exchange. "Just so you know, I'm not making any kind of skirt for you, Zevran. Maker forbid I should see something that would haunt me in my dreams."

"Oh darling Wynne, you wound me so." The elf pouted, "Although I believe I should be flattered that you have dreams of me, hmm? Especially if they're dirty ones."

"I have never had dreams of you, Zevran. Nor do I believe I ever will." Wynne replied coldly, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Ouch. I believe I need some consoling now, too, Wynne." A cheeky tone entered his voice. "Will you cradle me in your bosom?"

Wynne responded to that with an exasperated sigh, stood up, and walked back to her tent. Zevran's eyes followed her, chuckling softly. He then turned his attention back to his favourite warden, "What about you, my fair Warden? Surely your bosom is available?"

"Nice try, Zev." She shivered. _How can a summer's night be so cold?_ She felt something warm envelop her. Zevran had sidled over and extended his cloak, and his arm around her. His body was so close, so warm.

She had ended her relationship with Alistair the morning after Morrigan left. It was a bitter conversation. "You said you loved me." In the end she had to stop his insistence... She said... Sierra clamped her eyes together to stop the tears from flowing. Zevran shouldn't need to see her like this. She had used him as an excuse; an escape from the relationship that she ended sooner rather than later. "I lied. I love Zevran." The hurt in his eyes pierced her like a dagger through the heart, and his words... The dagger twisted.

She hadn't had a man hold her this way since. It was nice, comforting even. She rested her head on Zevran's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered softly into his ear. She felt his body tense. He gazed down at her and nodded. Zevran had always been a loyal friend, true to the very end. Though libidinous and amoral, she wasn't exactly the perfect role model herself either. Besides, that's the part that made him so endearing.

_I should tell him. _

Her internal battle between rationality and conscience lasted a few moments. Cold, hard reason won out in the end, as did always. So she remained silent. Zevran seemed content to sit there beside her, or so it seemed when she sneaked a peek at him. He had a pensive look on his face, eyes focused on the distant fire. His soft blond hair flowed down the side of his face, tucked behind his ears, with two braids on both sides, styled to look elegantly genteel. His features were angular, and his tattoo only served to accentuate that quality. _He really is a handsome specimen. _"Zev," her voice so low, he almost didn't hear it. "Hmm?" he turned to face her.

"Have I told you before that you're handsome?"

Zevran's teeth flashed as he smiled, "Does that need to be said? Most of the Crows are elves, we are so pretty, humans just cannot resist our natural charms. Makes for easy seduction, you see." He winked at her.

Sierra scoffed and pulled the cloak tighter around her, "And now I regret stroking your huge ego." _Although there might be some truth in that._

"Would you prefer to stroke something else? That can easily be arranged." His grin widened.

"Whatever do you mean, Zev? Do I want to stroke Ash? Hmm, I think I do." She smiled back at him innocently, gave him a peck on the cheek and left him for her faithful mabari. She did not look back, but she had the feeling he was giving her that perverted look that made her feel as though he could see through her clothing.

Zevran stood to follow her back to the campsite. He lay on his bedroll and watched Sierra kiss Ash good night. He face broke into a smile yet again, resisting the urge to comment about the kiss, and then he pulled up the cover and turned away from the fire, giving himself over to sweet slumber.

_He's watching me... _Sierra smiled sadly, knowing she could not reveal what would happen to him. Maybe it was because she didn't want to upset him, or maybe it was just because she knew she could not deal with the sympathy, and any other reaction the news of her almost-certain death would invoke. _I don't think I could take it, if the revelation with Wynne was anything to judge by._

_Sten. _Would he be upset? He rarely showed emotion, but he had begun to smile more lately. A bit more, at least. _He said he respects me, and calls me Kadan_. The qunari's betrayal in Haven had rocked her to her very core, for she did not expect any of her comrades to turn on her. It made her realize that anything could happen. But she understood why he did it, it was Sten. At least he would be able to go back to Seheron once this was all over, since he is reunited with Asala.

_Oghren._ Hah. Smelly little nug-get probably would just forget about me once he starts drinking at the victory celebration. Maybe go back to Lake Calenhad to visit Felsi, after the battle. _Grab a wench or two huh_? _...Oren. _"What's a wench? Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?" Sierra felt a stab of pain at the memory of her little nephew. She'll see him soon.

_Leliana. _Had she really made up the vision? It didn't seem to matter anymore. She was a good friend. And it was good to have someone around who reminded her that it was alright to be girly. _Will she be singing about the Battle of Denerim in years to come?_ She would probably return to Orlais, the way she talks about the place.

And _Shale?_ She didn't really want to think about that. Sierra sighed and continued to pet Ash.

"I'm sorry, Ash. You know I'll be leaving soon, don't you?" Ash let out a sad whine. Sierra's heart broke again and she threw her arms around the mabari who'd been her ardent companion since she was thirteen. That night, she didn't return to her bedroll, content to rest her head on Ash as she let the nightmares claim her.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Ma serannas to Eva Galana who brought to my attention that Nathaniel should have been in the Free Marches during the blight (who is also my first reviewer!). It's too late to change that now, though. So we're just gonna have to move along. Another side note is that I'm disregarding the Awakening plot effectively by writing this fanfic. _

_I wanted to talk about death being the price all men pay, but that national treasure 2 said it first, so it would be cheesy and plagiarized. It's a sad, sad world out there where we need to fight to be original. :(_

_**Pronunciation:  
**Sierra: _See - air-a__


	5. In Uthenera

She did not have many good memories of the Howe estate. The ones she did, however, usually involved brawling with Nathaniel, reading from the library books, not having to clean up Thomas' vomit, and time spent with Delilah and the Arlessa. The bad ones... Best not to go there.

Celes had let herself return to the foot of the range where Amaranthine estate rested upon. Almost reluctantly, she tore her gaze away and started to the city gates. She pulled her cloak around her and recalled the map she examined earlier that morning. _It would probably take a little more than a month to reach Denerim, providing my directional sense does not fail me. _She exited via the south gate.

Goodbyes were something she had never done before, in her entire twenty years of life. She did not say goodbye to her parents, nor did she say goodbye to the arlessa, and she did not bid farewell to the Howe Estate and Amaranthine when she left either. It wasn't because she didn't want to, but more because she did not know how to say goodbye. So when she woke up in her room that morning, she snuck out the backdoor, purposely avoiding Sorcha and barkeep. Even as she walked along the city streets, she avoided the gaze of the crowd, walking only in the shadows cast by the shops and houses until she reached the estate. She did the same as she was leaving the city.

The journey was fairly uneventful, save for the three bandits she encountered in the first week. Celes made quick work of them, and salvaged around 2 sovereigns and a lovely pair of doeskin gloves lined with rabbit fur from the bodies. She thought the kills would bother her, as well as the looting, but surprisingly, she felt nothing as she watched the men die. Her body was churning out adrenaline like a turbine, but she could have sworn she felt a thrill run up her spine when she stabbed the last man under his ribs, straight to the heart. "_Huh. That was for you, papa." _she thought as she the man's body slumped on her blade and she lowered her dagger and let it slide off, landing with a '_thud'._

A routine was quickly established. Celes travelled from dawn's first light until noon, when she would break for a quick meal, then continued until eve or when she felt tired, so she had enough time and energy to hunt for dinner. She went about at her own pace, sometimes staying at a campsite for a full day before continuing; allowing herself a full days rest, to practice her poison-making and herbalism, forage for food, or to practice her skills. At other times, she would shadow spar as she ran, striking at imaginary foes, constantly diligent in her training. After all, it would be too boring if she didn't find means of entertainment. Soon, she found herself craving company. _I wouldn't mind so much if some bandits showed up again right about now…_

After about 6 weeks on the road, Celes had gotten used to the stride and the woods. Sometimes, when she sat by herself in front of the makeshift campfires – which she failed miserably at starting the first dozen times, the woodland animals would scurry about and sometimes they would join her. It was relieving to know that she did not scare small animals away, at least this way she had some company. She sat fiddling with the deathflower she picked along the path. She had accidentally inhaled a little bit of the deathroot extract the last week, and found herself nauseous and weak for a couple of hours. Curious, she mixed the extract with deep mushroom stalk shavings, sniffed it again, and was knocked out cold for… who knows how long? She woke up when it was dark. She grimaced, _I'm going to get myself killed someday, _she thought. Celes quietly made a note never to experiment with poisons on the road again.

_Am I lost?_ _I swear I've seen that oddly shaped rock before_, she thought as she examined the mound of rocks before her. Celes spun around as she heard a twig break. _Definitely not a rabbit or a squirrel. Some heavy sod is trying to sneak up on me, and doing a poor job at it, too._ She ran for the nearest tree and climbed up to a high branch, concealing herself behind a bunch of leaves. She started counting back from one hundred to calm her nerves, her right hand rested over her belt that held the throwing knives she coated with venom.

Then she saw them. Three of the most gut-wrenching, disgusting looking creatures she'd ever laid eyes upon. Their features looked almost skeletal, yet it seemed to be fleshy enough. Their eyes looked like misshapen brownish-yellow marbles, and their nonexistent eyebrows seemed to knit together as they snarled. The creatures no hair, no visible ears and a strange twisted growl that sounded like they had no tongues as well. They were equipped with armor, mostly mismatched, probably ill-obtained through kills. _What manner of foul creatures are these?_, Celes thought as one of them looked up, and pointed.

Realizing she was noticed, Celes hurled 3 knives, each found their way to the creatures' skulls. They roared, and started clawing at their heads. Celes took advantage their confusion to unsheathe her daggers and jump off the tree, landing on the tallest creature, digging both daggers into its head to stop her fall. Wasting no time, she pulled free and turned to the other two. She slashed the neck of one, and decapitated the other. She shuddered at the sight of the three ghoulish monstrosities that lay dead at her feet, sheathed her weapons and bent to pick up her knives. That's when she heard the whistle of arrows invading the air around her, and she turned to face her attackers just a little too late. The first arrow lodged itself in her left shoulder, the other grazed her thigh, another hit her thigh and the last one pierced the right of her navel. She opened her mouth to utter a wordless cry as she fell; her last sight was of a robed man running to her, and fire.

_Ow…_ Celes tried to open her eyes and squinted at the sun's glare. She found herself lying on an open bedroll, wearing nothing but her strophium. She immediately got up to look for her clothes, when she heard the sound of somebody clearing their throat behind her. Her head whipped in that direction and saw a robed man. She gave a yelp and sank back down on the bedroll, pulling the sheet around her. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Did you take my clothes?" Celes shrieked at him.

"Uhh… I didn't do it." He lifted his hands up his defense. "Your clothes are there, by the stream."

Celes shot him another nasty glare, looked around and saw her clothes by the stream, just as he said. "Turn around," she pointed in the opposite direction, and waited for him as he sighed and shrugged, but he turned away from her. "I'll just keep watch then, won't I?" he said, clearly disgruntled.

"And don't even think about peeking!" she yelled a warning at him, and quickly pulled her clothes on, occasionally looking around to check if his back was turned. "Don't worry! Wouldn't dream of it!" he yelled back. _I'm pretty sure he meant that as an insult. _Celes shrugged it off. _Why should I care?_

When she was fully (or partially, because of her exiguous armor) dressed, she walked back to the man and tapped him on the back. He turned and smiled at her. On closer inspection, Celes realized this man before her was a mage. He was dressed in Circle robes, and had a staff strapped to his back. His hair was a light shade of amber and was stubble-chinned. His left eyebrow was slightly higher than his right, although it was unclear whether that was natural or prompted. His amber hair was combed back and tied into a ponytail, giving him an I'm-clean-and-shaven look.

"Why did you remove my clothes?" she demanded.

He raised his arms again, "I had to dislodge the arrows! Imagine the sight you'd be even after I heal you, walking around with 3 arrows sticking out of your body." He nodded towards her belly, "You might want to get some mesh to cover up these exposed bits too. So you don't get pierced so deep next time. I assure you, it would be less messy to clean up."

Realization dawned upon her. "Oh, you… I… Thank you." _This man saved my life. _

"Tis but a scratch, eh? But you do owe me," he waggled a finger at her and gestured at the scar near her navel. "That one… was severe. You really should consider the mesh."

Her hand instinctively moved to touch her waist where the arrow had hit her. There was but a small red line there, barely visible, that swelled slightly. She ran a finger over it, shuddering to think what would have become of her if this… man not come along. "Please, forgive my manners, my name is Celes, and you are?" she looked into his light brown eyes.

"You may call me Anders, my dear lady. I am a mage, and sadly, a wanted apostate." He rubbed the nape of his neck.

"An apostate? Ah, you're a mage out of the circle then. What were you doing here?"

Anders nodded cheerily, "Well, I was having a pleasant stroll through the park – with darkspawn!"

Celes' eyes widened, "So that's what they are? Darkspawn." Anders gave her a peculiar look, "You've never heard of darkspawn?"

"Well of course I've heard of them, Anders, I'm not quite so daft." She replied, feeling slightly insulted, "I've just never seen them before. They look so –" Celes felt a chill at the memory of those gruesome creatures. "Yes, I don't think they'll be winning any beauty contests, that's for sure. You did really well with the hurlocks," he said, referring to the three darkspawn she took down before fainting.

"So you just… Killed them all?"

"Why yes, my lady. Stunned the genlock archers who shot you down and fried them." Anders looked pleased with himself. "You fried them?" she asked. "Yes, it burns, you know. I rather like lightning better than fire. Lightning makes me tingly." Anders held a finger to her skin and the static that ran through her caused her to yip and recoil.

"What did you do that for?" she slapped him on the shoulder, rubbing her arm where he shocked her. "No reason, I thought it'd be fun to see your reaction. You should have seen the look on your face." He chortled and she looked at him in disgust.

"At any rate, we should find a place to camp for tonight. And you can't move about too much for the next two days or so, I'm sure you're quite fond of having your innards intact. And by innards, I mean your stomach. I'll lend you my services for the moment, until you're all better, alright?" Anders smiled and looked at her, as though daring her to refuse. She thought about it. He was a strange one, but clearly better at survival than she was; it would be foolish to refuse. "Sounds like a plan. I'm in no rush to get to Denerim anytime soon. Where did you have in mind?"

He grimaced, "You want to go to Denerim?"

"Yes, why?" she asked, noticing his reaction.

"It's been taken over by the darkspawn, that's why. Blood and mayhem is all you'll find there now, I'm afraid." Anders was a strange man, even when speaking of the destruction of the capital of Ferelden, his tone was that of which normal people would use to describe their favourite pastime or talk about their pets.

"I see. That was… unexpected. Especially so soon after the landsmeet ended. But we'll talk about this later, it's getting late." Celes gazed at the sky, and back at Anders. "Shall we go? You lead the way."

Anders had been staying, or hiding, in an abandoned farmhouse just southwest of Denerim. It turned out she had veered off to the south a little too much and missed Denerim about a week ago. Anders had a good laugh about that, although he seemed interested when she said she had come from Amaranthine. The farmland was clearly abandoned after being ravaged by something, or some things. Anders said he had to take care of the herd of blight wolves that were awfully territorial about the place before he could move in. The area was secluded enough and was in no direct view of the road, so they would be safe as long as the darkspawn did not suddenly decide to go on a scavenging trip out of Denerim. "Besides, there are more humans in the city for them to play with." _As he said._

"Anders, are you from the Anderfels?" Celes asked as she picked at the fish they had caught and grilled earlier.

"The Anderfels? No, why do you ask?" He rested the side of his head on his left knee, and shot his most 'dashing' smile at Celes. "Are people from the Anderfels incredibly handsome and chivalrous?"

She laughed, "No, don't mages do nothing but read and practice magic in the tower? People from the Anderfels are called Anders. Hello? Anders?"

"Ahh… I see. I never knew that." Anders rested his chin on his hands now. "Perhaps I am. I don't know, really. Our memories of the past are wiped out when we're brought to the Circle." _He's so laid-back_. "And I'm not ignorant. It's just that I've always been too busy devising plans on escaping the tower to waste time reading books."

"That's right, you mentioned you were an apostate. Very agreeable about the fact, as well, it seems. Are you proud to be an apostate?" Upon hearing that, Anders straightened his back and responded slowly, "I've never liked being trapped in the Circle, to be honest. After my seventh escape attempt, you'd think they'd have given me credit for trying."

"I take it they didn't. You must be quite the escape artist. How is it they didn't just execute you?" It was to her understanding that mages escaping the Circle was a terrible crime. Anders' features contorted. He looked almost… angry. "You know the Chantry. They don't believe in executions. If you die, they can't torment you. They can't make you Tranquil once you've passed your Harrowing. I'll wager they regret that rule! Anyway, after they caught me the last time, they put me into solitary confinement. I was trapped there until Uldred started with all the business about… blood magic." Anders spat the last two words out with contempt. "Created so much chaos in the tower, I managed to escape. Bribed the ferryman for a ride out."

"You're not a maleficar, are you?"

"No! What… No. I am not. Blood magic is abhorrent. Bargaining with demons, taking control of others human beings… I could never do such things. It makes people scared, blood magic. It's what turned people against us. Surely you've heard of the story regarding the Tevinter mages and the Golden City?" he looked at Celes and she nodded. "That's the reason mages are merely _tolerated._ It's like you need permission to be alive. There's nothing a mage can do to protect himself. Everyone needs to be protected from you. The end." His voice rose. Then, aware of his behavior, he relaxed. "Eventually, I thought, the templars would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me. But Irving knew the truth, he was a good man." Anders sighed, and that was when Celes realized how much she underappreciated her freedom. Sure, she was a chambermaid, but she had never known the torment of being discriminated against on the basis of something innate to her, and being blamed for the crimes of others. _I'm glad I'm not a mage._

They talked for many hours that night. Anders shared his knowledge about the darkspawn, and Celes shared stories about the world outside the Circle walls. She had been free to read the books in the library, and the arlessa had included her when she told bedtime stories to the children; and she relayed her favourites to Anders. He listened delightfully. His almost childlike demeanor was endearing, and she found him easy to talk to. She was glad to be in a real person's company after travelling alone for so long.

During the eve of the next day, they both left the farmhouse to scout the surroundings of Denerim. The killing and destruction was horrible, and they both returned to the rundown shack in silence. In a bid to lighten the atmosphere, Celes pulled the flute out of her pack. It had been a gift from Delilah. Arl Howe had hired a troubadour to teach Delilah how to play the flute, but before the first lesson, she had come to Celes and whined about how much she hated the prospect of the lessons and had coaxed Celes into taking her place. She enjoyed learning and excelled remarkably under the troubadour's instruction. It was a beautiful, silver-plated brass flute, which she cherished more than any other of her possessions; save for her dagger.

Celes played her favourite tune, "In Uthenera". She was told the lyrics but could never sing them while playing because… Well, because her mouth was otherwise occupied. When she was told the song was of elven origin, she practically begged the troubadour to teach it to her, hoping it would aid her in making sense of her father's exile. And that it did.

Uthenera was an elvhen practice called "the long sleep", in which the _hahren_ would retire to a chamber that was part bed and part tomb. The extended family would hold a great ceremony, sending the _hahren_ off into a deep slumber from which they would not awake for centuries, and often never. In time, the body would deteriorate and the _hahren_ would die in truth. It did not happen often, but the oldest of elves were said to reach a point where they became weary of life. Memories became too much to bear, and rather than fade into complacency, they voluntarily stood aside for the newer generation to guide their people; it was _Halamshiral_. _A strange practice_, she thought, since elves were not immortal. However, after much scouring through the scrolls in the library, Celes discovered that they once were, during the first age. An exerpt written by Hassandriel, Lord of Halamshiral during the Glory Age, revealed that, "With the arrival of humans and the quickening of elven blood that ensued, the practice of uthenera began to fade. When Arlathan fell, it ceased forever."

Epiphany ensued. Her father was exiled for marrying a _shemlen_, because humans were the reason for the destruction of many Elvhenan and the loss of elvhen immortality. And to have _da'len_ with a _shemlen_ was the ultimate betrayal to the clan, for it was symbolic of condemning the elvhen race to die a slow death; for which the only punishment was eternal banishment from the tribe.

The words she had read aloud in the remote corner of the library that one snowy day echoed in her head as she played, not realizing Anders had drifted off to sleep.

"_hahren na melana sahlin  
emma ir abelas  
souver'inan isala hamin  
vhenan him dor'felas  
in uthenera na revas_

_vir sulahn'nehn  
vir dirthera  
vir samahl la numin  
vir lath sa'vunin"_

She played the song in loops, a slow aria that soothed the heart in trifling times. She did not want to stop. It seemed so real; she could almost hear it… Wait. She _could_ hear it. Someone was singing. Singing "In Uthenera", in accompaniment to her music, in the dark, in the wilderness. She broke off abruptly and was on her guard in an instant.

Celes heard some shuffling outside the shack and scooted over beside Anders and hissed, "Anders," while tapping him on the arm, gently waking him from his sleep. They watched the door, and suddenly, a red-headed woman appeared at the entrance. She huffed and said,

"Hey, why did the music stop?"

* * *

_**A/N: **__Wrote the first few paragraphs of this chapter half asleep. I remember typing pumpkin instead of pumping and I actually misspelled paragraph twice. I even misspelled twice. Oh, and explanations are going to be really long for this chapter since there are so many elven words. For those who are interested, you can find "In Uthenera" on youtube by searching it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave me reviews and stuff telling me what you think, even if it's crap~ :) _

_**Explanations/Pronunciations (alphabetical order):**_

_Anderfels: _Human nation northwest of Ferelden.

_Da'len: _Child.

_Elvhenan: _Place of our people.

_Hahren: _Elder.

_Halamshiral: _The end of the journey. Also the name of the capital of the second elven homeland in the Dales.

_In Uthenera (song):_

"elder your time is come  
now I am filled with sorrow  
weary eyes need resting  
heart has become grey and slow  
in waking sleep is freedom

we sing, rejoice  
we tell the tales  
we laugh and cry  
we love one more day"

_In Uthenera: _In the waking sleep.

_Shemlen: _Quick Children. "Quicklings". The elve's name for the human race. Slang term _Shem_ is often used by city elves. Likely named after the quickening of elven blood caused by contact with humans.


	6. The Night Before The Battle

When Sierra opened her eyes that morning, she was faced with a qunari squatting in front of her and Ash, staring at her with intensity. Her reaction, of course, was to scream and fall backwards like a complete klutz. He stood up, Ash by his side and, and continued staring.

"Ow… Sten," she groaned and reached out to take his hand. He lifted her up.

"Kadan." He replied, acknowledging her greeting with a quick nod.

Sierra stared back for a few moments, trying to figure out what was on his mind. "A very good morning to you, too. What do you want, Sten?" _Was he watching me sleep? That's disturbing._

"I wanted to tell you that happiness is fragile. Nothing can be built upon it that will last. Only duty endures. That is all." With that, he gave her no chance to respond, and walked back to his 'spot', followed closely by Ash.

"_Den, Nessa, Andetta."_

"Duty, Integrity, Honor. The Cousland motto. Don't ever forget that, pup."

_Father would be so ashamed of me right now,_ she thought while walking beside Wynne and Oghren, who were discussing some kind of 'Vintage Kovash Blend' and its flavour and whatnot. Even Sten had noticed her change in behaviour, which deepened her shame.

After much thought, Sierra had come to terms that she really did not have much to live for any longer. Or it might have been her rationalizations, but never mind that. Her whole family was dead, and her brother, Fergus, was missing; and was probably dead as well. She had dumped Alistair and rejected Zevran before, and honestly, who else would want to be with a Grey Warden who was going to die in another 30 years, give or take a few?

She was becoming increasingly dejected as her thoughts took a turn to think of the possibilities, the "what-if" she survived. She would only be Alistair's mistress, until he marries another. He was soft-hearted, and would probably not bear to hurt his family, should he and his queen produce an heir; and that would ultimately be the end of their relationship. She saw his nightmare in the Fade, and she knew this to be true. She did not even want to think about how hard he would have to try to conceive a child, let alone imagine what would happen if he had one. Were she to remain his mistress, it would be a royal scandal, and the nobles of Ferelden would be all over it once they knew. She had made the decision not to take the throne with Alistair even before knowing about the sacrifice she would have to make to kill the Archdemon. She made up her mind long before that, when they met Hespith. Her chant haunted Sierra in her dreams, "_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._" It was clear to her, then, why there weren't many female Grey Wardens in history; and why it was so difficult for the Grey to have children, why it was not encouraged. She stood by her decision.

So, realistically, what did she have to live for anymore, if not for her duty to the Grey Wardens? It was as the Legion of the Dead. The Joining was your funeral, regardless of whether you survive the ritual. You forfeit your life when you become a Grey Warden, and find eternal peace in death.

The thought alone was enough to make Sierra steel her resolve. _I can do this. If I have to die, I die for the people I love. I die so they may live._ "You were always destined for great things, pup." _This is my destiny.

* * *

_

"_Stupid horse," _Alistair thought as he tried and failed to get on his steed for the second time. Teagan stood by the tent, watching with amusement. He must have felt pity for Alistair because he finally walked up to help him. "One would think you'd get along well with horses since you stayed with them as a child, Alistair." He sniggled evilly.

Alistair's face reddened and cursed under his breath. He was glad Teagan was not treating him like king yet, but he could at least find the courtesy to not kick a man when he's down. Couldn't he just be nice and help me up the stupid horsie? "Yeees, you'd think, wouldn't you?" his voice was laced with sarcasm, and Teagan got the hint. After Alistair was hoisted up, he rode to the front of the lines and they continued their march to Denerim.

He felt alone. Well, there was always Wynne to talk to, but that wasn't really what he had in mind at that moment. Since that day, when Sierra ended their… thing, as she so nicely put it, he had been seething with anger from the betrayal. Even so, he put on an outward appearance of "I'm-so-gracious-I-forgive-you-even-though-you-lied-and-cheated-on-me". She was all he could think about, and it killed him inside.

* * *

Zevran was walking behind the ladies, for that was where the view was the best. He observed Wynne; she was fun to tease, and remarkably cynical, which made it all the more entertaining. And her bosom really was magnificent for a lady of her seniority. Then he turned his attention to Shale, the giant statue was an eccentric mound of walking rubble. Try as he may, he could not understand Shale's psyche. She had such strange idiosyncrasies, like her hatred for birds and the desire to crush other animate beings into pulps. _Was she even a 'she' anymore? _And yet, she brings up strange topics such as having children; which made Zevran ruminate upon subjects he had never considered before. And here he thought dwarves were so much fun, what with the orgies and everything.

Leliana was a very interesting woman. Seemingly pious, and yet, by the way she moved, he knew... She was no ordinary lay sister. And then it was revealed that she was a bard, and it all made sense. She was almost as entertaining as Wynne, but in a different way. He had flirted with her, of course, that goes without saying; but he did not mean much by it. It was the Warden that truly captivated him.

Sierra was walking alongside Leliana. She seemed different from the night before; more poised, more sure of herself. But the woman changed so often, it was not surprising. She was more battle-hardened now. Surely if someone tried to assassinate her at this very instance, she would not let them go so easily. He wondered if that was his true evaluation of her nature or his vanity getting the better of him. But overnight, she had changed.

Since Redcliffe, Sierra had been visibly upset over something. He heard the shouting. He heard the crying. And he heard the lie. He had thought to confront her about it, he even walked up behind her and tapped her on the back to ask. But when she turned around, he saw the pain in her eyes that mirrored that in his heart when he fled Antiva… He left her alone to grieve._ Arainai, what would you have said to her anyway? _He reprimanded were friends, and she never showed any intention of moving beyond that. He should have been satisfied, he had a friend… Yet he couldn't help but hope.

He did not like it. Something seemed amiss; the puzzle lacked the pieces. Morrigan suddenly disappeared, the wardens suddenly stopped talking to each other, and Sierra started avoiding people. Too many things were unexplained, and it was all too paradoxical for his tastes. Also, she suddenly brightened up after last night, not that it was a bad thing; just strange. Zevran knew not what to make of it. _Perhaps she is thinking about her fate?_

"Heh heh heh heh." It was that all too familiar gruffy laughter, but he did not need to hear the voice to recognize who it belonged to; he could smell the ogre piss breath from ten feet away."Elf!"

"Oghren!" Zevran turned towards him, arms wide open in welcome. "I have something to say to you!" Oghren shook his flask at Zevran.

"I am all ears, as we elves like to say." He folded his arms behind his back and bent forward, waiting for a reply.

"I… Well, now I forgot." The dwarf dipped his head and appeared deep in thought.

Zevran theatrically held out his hands, looked into the sky and shook his head, "Alas."

"But just now I had something. Just give me a moment." Zevran nodded and remained silent.

"AH!" "Three hundred and eighty-six!" They both exclaimed at the same time.

Oghren's uni-brow furrowed as he asked, "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just counting how long it would take for you to remember." Zevran smiled sweetly at him, in an almost patronizing manner. Oghren grunted, "Phah!" And walked away. "Wait! You never did tell me what you meant to say, my foul-smelling friend!" Zevran feigned a crestfallen tone as Oghren stomped to the dwarf army lines. He laughed and turned his attention back to the lovely ladies before him and noticed them giggling away. This, he liked.

* * *

The troops were on the road for another two weeks before they arrived at a stretch of land off-the-trail around about four hours away from Denerim. They would siege the capital the next day. Sierra was in a meeting with Arl Eamon, Lanaya, Bann Teagan, Kardol, First Enchanter Irving, Riordan and Alistair in her tent. They had sent Zevran, a Dalish scout, and a Legionnaire scout to inspect the situation in Denerim ahead of them that morning. The tension in the air was almost tangible while they sat in wait of their news. When the scouts returned, Zevran reported that the darkspawn had grouped into two main districts, the marketplace and the alienage; while the archdemon perched at the apex of Fort Drakon. They would have to fight their way through the swarms of darkspawn that infested Denerim's streets and Fort Drakon in order to reach it.

Riordan mentioned that the 2 main groups were possibly led by elite darkspawn generals. It would be wise to eliminate those before proceeding to Fort Drakon, for the archdemon could call for help if they were left alive. So it was decided. The army would storm the gates, and once they secured the entrance, two small groups would be dispatched to deal with the generals while the bulk of the force would hold off darkspawn at the gates. After the generals are defeated, they would move to the entrance of Fort Drakon and hold ground there, while the alliance generals and mages would accompany Sierra's group to the top of Fort Drakon. She placed herself, Oghren, Zevran and Wynne on the offensive; and Alistair would lead Sten, Leliana and Shale on the defense. When Alistair started to retort, she said, "Your majesty, we need someone with experience to hold our line of defense. It is vital to our success that the darkspawn outside of Fort Drakon remain on the outside of Fort Drakon. Or die. I prefer the latter. But it is of high import that they are kept away. Riordan will hold the fort with you until we kill the generals; then he comes with me." He clamped his lips together, clearly unhappy with the arrangement, but he could not argue with her logic. _I have to keep him as far away from the archdemon as possible._

Sierra then turned to Riordan and said, "Riordan, try to save yourself for the archdemon."

Riordan frowned at her, "Duly noted, my lady." _Oops, I wasn't supposed to say that out in the open, was I?_ She ran through the list of things in her mind regarding the strategy, and said, "Arl Eamon, all your knights should be aiding King Alistair in the defense. The Dalish archers should do the same, as they can fire from the turrets, dealing damage while avoiding it." She directed the second instruction at Lanaya, and then turned to Kardol, who was shifting restlessly in his seat. "Kardol, am I not mistaken that King Harrowmont sent fifty men from his own army?" He nodded, "Yes, my lady." "Good, they can deal with the market district. Teagan and Lanaya will go with them. The Legionnaires will join me in the Alienage. Those quarters are cramped, so we need less people there as we do the market area." She noticed Lanaya's expression. "Lanaya, I only ask that you go with the dwarves because you excel at magic. You will make up for what the dwarves lack. Do not fret. Your tribesmen will be relatively safe once we secure the entrance." She swept a glance across the room, "Any last objections before we adjourn?" _Silence is consent. _"Right, then." _Well, what do I say now?_ "May the Maker watch over us all." _Sorry for poaching your line, Duncan._ She thanked everyone present and reminded them to relay what was said to their respective troops. "Meeting adjourned."

Everyone started leaving, but Alistair remained. His eyes bore into Zevran's back as he exited and then turned to Sierra. From what she gleaned, they were filled with a mixture of hurt, sadness and admiration. She pretended to be engrossed in the city map of Denerim, intently avoiding eye-contact. She heard him stand up and walk towards the table. _Oh, crap._ She could already see the legs of his armor where he stood in front of the table from her position. "You were amazing." _Well, that was unexpected. _She looked up slowly. His anger seemed to have dissipated, and the look he gave her was so gentle. "Err… Thank you, Your Majesty. That is most… Uh, very kind of you." _Argh. What's wrong with me? Am I scared of the chantry-boy now? _"Don't do that, Sierra. We're friends. It's Alistair. Or Cheese breath." She smiled, "That was a bad joke." "I know," he added softly, "I'm sorry. Not for the joke, well… Maybe a little for the joke, but mostly not. I want to apologize for what I said to you that day." She knew what he meant. "Consider it forgotten, Alistair." She was eager to be rid of him, but at the same time she wanted him to stay. "Now, if you need anything else?"

"You know… I never really saw the signs. Or anything, really, between you both." Alistair was looking her straight in the eyes. "We were uh… discreet." _Andraste! How am I supposed to lie to his face when he looks at me like this?_ "Are we quite done here, Alistair? I'm tired. We can talk tomorrow morning." She fully intended not to. He flinched, as though he had just been slapped in the face, "Yes, I think we're done… I just wanted to say, Sierra… That no matter what has happened between us, I still love you." The tears threatened her will, and she bit her lip to stop herself from replying. Expecting no answer, Alistair turned and left the tent.

She buried her face in her hands and to stem the tears. _I love you too…_

When Sierra finally stepped out, eve was just upon them. The sky was turning a light gray, with a hue of orange-red light cast by the setting sun. She squinted at the glare and made her way towards the troop encampments. She went to find her companions, gathered them together and filled them in on the details regarding the upcoming siege on Denerim. Then, she made rounds to see the knights, dwarves, elves and circle mages. She talked to a few men from each group, sparing as much time as she could, making an effort to keep morale up. When she was sitting among the twelve mages and listening to the hundred different ways to die by magic, she noticed Alistair sitting with the knights on the other side; the rare few female knights crowded around him. _At least we know he won't really need to woo girls to attract them._

When she finished the rounds, the sky was dark, and she was tired and hungry. Sierra returned to her campsite to find Oghren swatting above his head and Zevran kneeling beside him, laughing. She barely heard Oghren mutter, "I hope the nug pisses on you! Phah!" He stomped off again. She approached Zevran. "How come I always manage to be around when Oghren is stomping off because of something you said? What was it this time?" She couldn't help smiling at the beaming elf.

"Well, Oghren was chasing that unholy rabbit-pig pet of Leliana's. Moopers or Shooples or something." Zevran struggled remembering the name, it must be difficult to grasp for someone from Antiva. "Schmooples."

"Yes, that! Whatever you just said. On a side note, it is just as foul smelling as our stocky little friend there. We should pair them up and make it official, no?" He glanced at Oghren who was drinking from his flask again, by his tent. "He was trying to make a snack out of it. Nuggets. I think he was drunk. And you know how fun he is when he's drunk, Sierra…" He pouted at Sierra, willing her to say yes. She only nodded and said, "Go on."

He crossed his legs and straightened his posture; and made a hand gesture as if flattening a piece of clay. "I put my hand on his head like so, you see. I had to stop him from skewering the poor pet. So I told him I was protecting him from falling upwards into the wide blue yonder, the great azure sky, the vast expanse of nothingness. That really ruffled him up. He was shaking so hard, I thought he was going to vomit on me! And that's where you came in." Zevran was shaking himself from suppressed laughter. _I've never known him to be such a joker. Maybe we're all just making the best of today since tomorrow might be our last._

"Come to think about it, where's Schmooples and Leliana? Aren't they always together?" Sierra scanned the campsite for any sign of Leliana, but she only saw light nug-paw tracks of in the dirt. "I need to talk to her."

"I do not know. Perhaps she went to… pick some fruit?" Zevran made a sweeping gesture at the forest. _Did she enter the forest? Or was that some bizarre sexual innuendo I've yet to hear of?_ At least this time there was no mention about the hidden treasures.

"I see. I think I'll ask around. Thank you." She hoped her worries were for no cause. Sierra was heading to the mage encampment when she heard singing. _Ah, follow the singing, then._ She saw Leliana in the distance, singing while the elves sat around her feet, but she was not alone.

Beside her was a disturbingly familiar woman, she was playing the flute in accompaniment with Leliana's singing. _I didn't know we had a flautist amongst our ranks, _she thought. _I wonder who she is._ Sierra waited until the song ended before she approached them. Leliana saw her and waved.

"Sierra! Over here!" Leliana called out to her. The girl beside her seemed astonished for a moment; she and Leliana exchanged a few lines before she got to them.

"Lady Cousland, is that you?" the girl asked, and it clicked.

"Celes? Celes Leonar? What in the Andraste's name are you doing here?" Sierra held her by the shoulders and gave her an appraising look.

"I found her." Leliana boasted, as though proffering the spoils of a good hunting day. "And how is it you two seem to know one another?"

"Found her? Found her where?" Sierra asked incredulously, missing Leliana's question entirely.

"My lady, if I may. I was playing the flute in an abandoned farmhouse not far from here, and Leliana must have heard and found me." _Ah… that's where she went._ "I thought you were dead, Lady Cousland. I heard the arl talking about the attack… I did not know what to think…"

"I'm fine, Celes. But my family didn't make it."

"I am so sorry." Celes looked as upset as she felt. "Yes, well, I got my revenge."

"So it was you who killed Arl Howe, milady?" Celes' eyes widened. "Yes, it was me. And please, stop calling me Lady Cousland. I am a Grey Warden, I have no titles now. Call me Sierra."

A man with a ponytail poked out from behind Celes and said, "Pleased to meet you, Sierra," while looking at Celes.

"Sorry, Anders." She said. "This is Anders, by the way. Don't mind him."

"Oh, is he your…" Sierra raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." "NO!" they both exclaimed at the same moment. Anders was nodding his head. Celes shoved him in the shoulder and turned back to face Sierra, "He saved my life in the woods, but we are NOT anything you're insinuating." She put special emphasis on the 'not' part.

"You look so cute when you're flustered, my dear Celes." Anders proclaimed as he poked her cheek, only to receive a swift kick in the shins. Leliana and Sierra laughed. "Too bad, you have serious potential." Sierra put her hand on Celes' shoulder, "Come with me, old friend. You have to tell me what has happened in Amaranthine and of the Howes. And your buddy can come too." She looked at Anders, who was cringing on the ground.

They went back to her military tent, where they had the meeting before, and caught up on what has happened since the Couslands' last visit to Amaranthine four years ago. She had first met Celes when they were both twelve. She and Nathaniel were playing chase out in the yard, sloshing in the mud on the hot summer day, when Sierra walked out onto the grounds and tackled her. They had been friends ever since, and she had never seen her as less than an equal. It was surprising to see her again, but it was a pleasant surprise. They recounted on almost everything that happened; Celes told her about the messenger, what happened to the Howe children, her training under Isabela, and her plans to travel to Denerim. And in turn, Sierra told her about the attack on Highever, albeit in a brief way, she did not want to go into detail. Then she told Celes about Duncan, being recruited, the attack on Ostagar, recruiting the armies and their plans for the upcoming siege; Leliana contributed whenever Sierra's memory failed her or when she missed out interesting little tidbits. Somewhere between Ruck and the Broodmother, Anders left to go talk to some of the Circle mages he recognized.

"Should I be sorry that I indirectly drove you out of your home?" Celes shook her head. "Good, I don't think I could bear the guilt. Besides, I can only imagine how torturous it must have been to serve under that bastard, Howe. I merely wish there was some way Nathaniel and Delilah didn't have to pay for their father's crimes." Sierra was not fond of Thomas Howe in the least. He was a hot-tempered, vulgar alcoholic who harassed any woman who came within a 5 feet radius. But Nathaniel and Delilah were good people. Refusing to brood on it, Sierra switched the topic.

"Celes, you and your friend should join us in battle tomorrow. We really need as much help as we can get." She nodded and said, "I'll have to talk to Anders, but I think he relishes a good fight. He does seem to enjoy being where the action is."

"Good. You can help Alistair hold the defense lines, then. Leliana, would you notify him of this, please?" Leliana agreed, and Celes left to inform Anders of their plans. When they were alone, Sierra said to Leliana in a hushed tone, "Leliana, there's something very important I need you to do for me tomorrow."

She stood and faced her. "Please, I need you to keep Alistair as far away from the archdemon as possible. Keep him from going up Fort Drakon at any cost, at least until the archdemon is slain. Can you do this for me?"

Leliana stood silent for a moment, and then she spoke. "I… Very well." She pulled Sierra into an embrace, "I'll miss you, my friend." Sierra stood in shocked silent as Leliana hugged her. After awhile, she wrapped her arms around the bard as well. "So… You know?"

She released, "All I know is, the Warden who kills the archdemon never seems to ever make it back to tell the tale themselves. You would imagine more people noticing the trend, but they don't. How sad." Leliana held her hands, "From your expression, I suppose I've stumbled upon something I wasn't supposed to know? A Grey Warden secret, perhaps? I think some of the sharper minds would have noticed." Leliana looked into her eyes.

"Know this… You are our hero and our savior, Sierra. You will win this war for us, of this I am certain. So, come tomorrow, may we fight gloriously, knowing that the Maker shall guide our path to victory."

* * *

_**Explanations:**_

_Den, Nessa, Andetta: _This is old English.

_**A/N: **__Sorry this chapter was so long and messy. I just couldn't keep to one POV._


	7. For Ferelden, For the Grey Wardens

"_Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde,  
Gaze upon them now, but fear them not."_

"Hey, hey." Anders nudged Celes with his finger.

"Shhh!" some of the men standing nearby shot looks of annoyance at them.

_Why must he choose to wait until the king begins his speech to talk to me?_ "What is it?" she hissed through her teeth at him, giving him an irritated glare.

"…_She is proof that glory is within reach of us all."_

_Oh great, now I missed part of the speech. That was the part about Sierra, too! _Celes looked at Sierra, who caught her out in the crowd and gave her a weak smile.

"Bet you I can kill more darkspawn than you in the city." Anders eyes were shining, and she couldn't help but smile at his childlike enthusiasm.

"_Today, we save Denerim.  
Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan.  
But most of all, today,  
We show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice.  
For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!"_

Celes did not tear her gaze away until she heard Sierra yell, "Charge!" and she ran alongside Anders, joining the throng of voracious soldiers. She looked to her side, "It's not fair, you know! You have more experience fighting darkspawn than I do!" Celes had to yell to be heard over the cheers.

"Well, I'll give you a handicap!" Anders grinned. "Hurlocks are 2 points, Genlocks count as 1, and Ogres are 5! You get 5 points in advance!"

_Where does he get all this from?_ Celes laughed to herself, "Fine, what do you want if you win?"

"A kiss from the lovely lady Celes, of course!" _He says that as if he expects me to agree to it…_

"Settled, but if I win, you'll… I'll think of something later!" Celes drew her bow as they got closer to the city walls.

"Sounds all good to me. But just so you know, I don't plan on losing!" Anders taunted her as a burly man ran between them, breaking their contact.

"Well, neither do I!"

She had been terrified that morning. Actually, terrified would be a gross understatement for what she was feeling. Celes had only come face to face with darkspawn once before. Even then, she had only survived because Anders was there. Never would she have imagined she would have to face an entire horde during her next encounter. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

She was retching in the bushes as a kindly senior-looking mage approached her. "What's wrong, child?" she asked. An explanation later, she removed a vial from within her robe pockets and gave it to Celes. "Here you go. Drink this. It will calm your nerves and settle your stomach." Celes thanked her and quickly downed the whole vial. The draft was vile and bitter but its effects were immediate. She no longer felt the pounding in her head or chest, nor did she feel nauseous any longer. But when she looked up, the old woman had disappeared. _I never even got her name. _

But now, as she and the men crashed through the city gates, she couldn't help but feel the thrill of the hunt again. Adrenaline coursed through her body with each foe she killed, deftly maneuvering between the mayhem, she was able to cut down many of her opponents before they even saw it coming. She sustained a few cuts here and there, but such was expected on the battlefield. _I'm lucky to still be alive, _she thought as she took in the sight of the battlefield. Already many men lay lifeless on the stone-cold streets of Denerim. She heard Sierra yell, "Put 'em to rout!" and looked to the direction. More darkspawn were pouring out the gates. _Time to play._

They had secured the gates. Anders came up to her side, "I have nineteen points so far. And you?" He was brushing his hands on his robes. _Damn, I didn't even count._ There was the four hurlocks she killed at the start, the three genlocks she had thrown poison at, the Hurlock emmisary she killed with an arrow through the throat…

"How much are emissaries worth?" Celes asked him.

"I'd say… the same as an ogre? Why? Did _you_ kill an emissary?" Anders looked at her with incredulity.

"Yes, I did. Is it that hard to believe?" She glared at him, indignant. Then came the call, "Celes, I'm heading to the Alienage! Can you and Anders stay here with Alistair, I mean, the king, and keep the darkspawn from passing?" Sierra ran up to her with the orders.

She nodded. Anders nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

When she walked away, Celes turned to Anders and held up her right arm, an ugly gash running up the length of it. "Would you mind..?"

"Oh yes, yes of course." Anders said, abashed. He quickly healed her injuries. It felt strange, like he was probing her body. She felt flesh knitting together, and the pain ebbing away. It was fascinating to watch, as she had never seen magic at work this close-up before. Anders was adept at healing and was done almost instantaneously. While he finished, she said, "I got sixteen points, excluding the handicap."

"Ah, I guess winning won't be so easy after all." He grinned and ran a hand up her arm where the scar had vanished. "There, we're done." She thanked him and together they proceeded to join the ranks behind the barricade.

* * *

Sierra knew she had work cut out for her. There was a huge horde threatening to break past the gates of the Alienage. Sierra sent Shianni away; knowing that to ask her to fight would be writing her a deathwish. Kardol stood beside her, with the Legion behind him. Wynne was working on a spell, and Zevran and Oghren were standing at the ready with their weapons raised. They said nothing, their expressions said everything. Everyone stood silent, and waited.

She saw a flash of light in the sky. Wynne pointed her staff upwards with a cry and a wave of lightning enshrouded the darkspawn behind the gate. The crackle of energy was deafening, but it was subdued by the hideous howls of agony that followed. The darkspawn writhed and ran into each other in confusion, trying to escape the pain. They watched as some fell, some growled at them through the gaps, and the first darkspawn crashed through the gates.

Countless deaths later, Sierra faced the Hurlock General. The dwarves were busy dealing with the grunts and Oghren had run forward to "introduce the general's arse to his axe". Zevran appeared behind it and stabbed both his daggers into its back. Sierra moved in for the kill. The general had sustained injuries to its front and back, and was beginning to become hysterical. It swung a sword wildly at Sierra's face just to have Wynne freeze it in mid-action, allowing her to deliver a deathblow to its chest. The general collapsed at her feet and she turned back to the dwindling horde that was quickly being whittled down by the dwarves.

* * *

"Your majesty!" A lone dwarf was running toward them, his right side stained crimson. "We require aid, in the marketplace!"

"Damn." Alistair grimaced and looked around for the people he could spare. He remembered Sierra mentioning a friend of hers before the battle. Where was she? "Celes Leonar."

Celes stepped forward. "Yes, your majesty?"

_This was the woman that Sierra was talking about? Would she be capable? _Alistair ran his eyes over the blood-splattered woman before him. She bore no scars save for the one beside her navel, clearly not a veteran, yet Sierra spoke so highly of her. _She looks so much like her…_ "Leliana, you will accompany her to the marketplace." He looked behind her and saw a mage standing protectively behind her.

"You." Anders looked up. "You will go with them and provide magical assistance." _I thought all the mages were standing by for Fort Drakon. This one musn't have gotten the message._

He sent a dozen men with Leliana, Celes and the mage. _Hopefully that will be enough. _

Shale approached him, "Why doesn't the puny human send me? They said they needed help, did they not? A golem is worth a dozen dwarves." She flexed and the afternoon sun rays reflected off her crystals.

Alistair's shoulders sagged as he sighed. "It's alright. I don't expect you to understand my decisions."

Shale huffed. "You think me incapable?"

"Oh no, no no no. Not at all." Alistair held his hands up in defense, stuttering slightly. "It's just… Well, there's more darkspawn for you to crush here, see? And there might even be a pigeon or two, before we're done."

"Pigeons? Very well, I shall remain." Shale walked back to Sten, muttering something about 'feathery fiends' and 'gravelly wrath'. Alistair sighed and trained his attention back at the gates, where darkspawn may emerge at any time.

* * *

"_Andruil_ guide my arrow…" Lanaya whispered as she released her hold on the arrow that went flying to the Hurlock general.

In the throng of the fight, Celes heard the roar of the Hurlock general as it went down. Many dwarves had fallen, for the Ogres towered over and overpowered them. Her left arm was crushed when it swung her aside and she hit the wall. Anders looked no worse for wear, however. He was holding his own with ice spells, freezing his opponents and shattering them with his staff; stunning any who came too close.

Leliana backed up against her, firing arrows at the darkspawn who approached, deterring them in their steps. "Are you alright?" she asked, without turning back.

"I'm fine!" Celes' left arm hung limp at her side. She gave one last look at the genlock who was running to her, aiming to strike her down, as she disappeared into the shadows. She appeared behind it and elbowed it behind its head. It started to fall forward. Then Celes wrung her right arm around its neck, twisted, and heard a satisfactory snap. It collapsed.

She saw Anders running to her, "Here, let me." He tried to heal her arm, but she waved him away.

"No… The ogres. Take them out first." She winced and pointed at the Ogre who held a dwarf in its palm, getting ready to crush him.

Anders growled and pointed his staff at the ogre. It stopped, holding its stance; howling as lacerations appeared on its body. "What was that?" Celes ogled at Anders in awe.

Anders shrugged and said, "Irving calls it 'Crushing Prison'. Now it's just one of 'Anders' Awesome Arsenal of Arcane Abilities'. Impressed?" A smug grin found its place on his face. She felt a wave of affection for him. _Silly man._

"_Now_ can I heal you?" He frowned at her and she nodded. "Yes, you may." She let him work on her arm, wincing as he pushed her bones a bit to align them. She bit her lip to stop from screaming. When he finished, they got up to see Lanaya pulling an arrow out of an ogre she was kneeling beside. Leliana was firing arrows at the last of the genlocks. Only twenty-three dwarves and six of the men who came with them survived. _Surely we could have done better_, Celes thought bitterly, while taking in the corpses of allies and foes scattered around the marketplace. Bann Teagan was nowhere to be found. It was a gruesome sight to behold. They had paid a heavy price for this minor victory.

Leliana walked over to her. "Come, let us go. Alistair will be waiting for us at the gates."

* * *

Sierra saw the archdemon fly overhead. It was a majestic creature, if not for its intent to eradicate humanity. It swooped down and destroyed the bridge behind them as they exited the Alienage. Then to her horror, she saw a figure that looked suspiciously like Riordan atop a tower platform in the archdemon's flight path. Riordan jumped off as the archdemon swooped below him and hung onto its back. "That reckless _bastard_!" she cursed, watching him tear open the dragon's wings as he was shook off. The archdemon crashed into the peak of Fort Drakon and, as irony would dictate it, Riordan landed in front of the building beside her. She approached his body, looked down at it and said, "Riordan, you fool…"

She called Zevran to her and they moved his body into the dirty back alley. _Alistair must not know._

They made their way back to the gates using an alternate path, since the bridge was now destroyed. When the troops gathered, she raised her voice and shouted. "Charge the Palace!"

As the sky darkened, they stormed the Palace District. The men's war cries were at a fever pitch as they culled all the darkspawn that stood in their way and made it to the entrance of Fort Drakon. There, two dragon thralls awaited their arrival. The Dalish archers held the numerous darkspawn back with barrages of arrows as the knights and dwarves cut through their front ranks with ease. The mages stayed behind and provided additional support by overwhelming the darkspawn with spells. Sierra and her companions rushed to engage the dragon thralls, cutting them down before they caused trouble for the rest of the army.

After they cleared a path to the entrance, she surveyed her companions. Zevran was so drenched in blood she couldn't tell if it was his or his victims. Leliana was clutching her shoulder where an arrow had hit her. Wynne was tending to Leliana, looking weary from all the healing she must have been doing throughout the entire fight. Alistair looked fine; he stood straight, keeping an air of confidence about him as to keep troop morale high. He was doing a good job at it, too. _He's going to be a great king._

Her gaze shifted to Shale who was… Shale was stomping on the dead dragons. _She really has a 'bird thing', _Sierra thought to herself and suppressed an urge to laugh; Shale wouldn't take that in stride so easily. Sten was wiping his blade on a dead hurlock's armor, his face impassive as always. Oghren was over by Kardol, visibly shaken by the death toll of the dwarves. _Where is Ash? _She offered up a silent prayer to the Maker that her mabari would be safe, and scanned the crowd for her childhood friend.

Celes was kneeling by a wounded soldier, an injury kit by her side, bandaging his arm. Sierra smiled sadly. _A pity we couldn't spend more time together, Celes… _She gazed longingly at her old friend, then tore away reluctantly. _This is it… No turning back._

"Zevran, Wynne, Oghren." They all came to her when she called. Eamon, Irving, Kardol, and Lanaya gathered around her, along with the mages. "Let's go."

She eyes landed one last time upon her ex-lover, Alistair, who was standing over the army like a proud father. Then turned her back and walked up the stairs of Fort Drakon, knowing she would not return. _Goodbye, my love…_

They killed the Genlock Conjurer and the Shapechanger that stood in their way, together with many other darkspawn and summoned creatures. When the company reached the stairs heading up to the second floor, Sierra saw a familiar face waiting for them in the room. Surrounded by a mass of darkspawn corpses and overturned furniture, at the edge of the stairs, stood Sandal, Bodahn Feddic's adopted son. Beside him, stacked neatly in a pile, lay the merchant's goods. Sierra walked up to him apprehensively, worried he might be possessed.

"Sandal?" She called his name, and the boy looked up. His face was full of glee, despite being surrounded by all the blood and gore.

"Sandal, what happened here? Where's your father?" Sierra looked into his eyes for signs that he understood what she was asking.

He responded, "Enchantment?"

Irving's voice came from behind her, "Lyrium-addled, poor boy."

She looked at Irving, then back at Sandal. She took him by the shoulders and shook him, "You're surrounded by darkspawn corpses, Sandal! What happened here?"

"Enchantment!" He clapped his hands and tugged at her blade.

"Oh, very well." Sierra relented and had Sandal imbue some newer runes she obtained from the Hurlock general on her blades, and then they moved on.

On the second floor, they faced a Genlock Master Assassin who managed to carve open Lanaya's back before they noticed it. Wynne immediately knocked it down with a fireball and went to Lanaya's side. Irving paralyzed its acolytes who came scurrying out of their hiding places when their master revealed itself. When it went down, they continued to the rooms ahead and were confronted by another Hurlock emissary and two Ogres. They were easy enough to take down with all the war veterans and the mages on their side. The group reached the stairs heading to the roof with minimal injuries, and Sierra called them to halt.

"I want everybody to spread out and check if we missed any darkspawn. It won't do to have them flanking us from behind when we're busy killing the archdemon." She gave the orders, and they were followed. Everyone split up and left the room, except for Zevran who stood by the door, looking at her.

She noticed him and asked, "Is something wrong, Zev?"

He approached her, "Sierra, I…" He held his hand by the side of her head for awhile, and then clenched his fist and withdrew, letting it drop to his side.

"I wanted to thank you for everything, before you go." He did not look her in the eye, instead training his gaze on the wall to his right. "You have done so much for me. And I am very… honored, that I was able to accompany you this far."

"Zevran…" Sierra started.

"No, let me finish." He turned and looked up at her, "You have been… the best friend any man could ask for. And you've given me so much, more than I deserve. Sierra… For you I would storm the Dark City itself. If only there was some way…" This time, he caressed her cheek and his hand snaked around her neck, brushing her hair aside gently. His eyes were soft. She had never seen him like this before.

_Oh, sod reservations._

She reached for his face and leaned forward, planting her mouth on his, and they kissed. She felt his initial surprise, but that was gone quickly when he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss. The kiss was passionate, inflamed by his want for her and her unsated desire for a man's touch. Zevran pressed her against him, and she held her hand to his face, tracing his tattoo, running the other through his blond hair. Her tongue found his, and she moaned into his mouth as he bit lightly on her lower lip. Their first and last kiss.

It was Zevran who ended it, pulling away from their lip lock, gasping. She looked at him pleadingly, but saw a pained look in his eyes. They stood together in silence for what seemed like eternity. Then she took his hand in hers and said, "Live well, Zevran."

His eyes glazed over, and he nodded, visibly retreating behind his emotional barrier. She thought he was going to say something when Wynne and Irving stepped through the door, eliminating all possibilities of further private conversation. The time for sentiment was over. The rest of the group slowly filed in and together they moved onward to the roof, to make a final stand for Ferelden.

* * *

Celes was getting restless. She had killed so many hurlocks and genlocks and ogres and emissaries that she already lost count, and still more were advancing. She searched the crowd for Anders and pulled him aside, much to his surprise.

"Ooh, a quick tryst during the battle? I'm game." He quipped, as she dragged him to the corner beside the fort stairs so they were hidden.

"No! Stop getting strange ideas in your head. I was going to ask you if you wanted to go see the archdemon." She looked at him expectantly.

"Oh why not? I'm sure every creature with 'demon' in its name has sparkly personalities. Should I bring tea?" He was rewarded with a smack on the shoulder.

She replied, "Sierra probably can use all the help she can get now. And besides, King Alistair looks like he's holding up pretty well. The whole army is here, after all. And she took what? Twenty people with her – to face the archdemon."

"Alright, alright. Lets go. You'll probably go alone if I don't agree anyway." _How did he know that? _"And don't hit me! I'm fragile." He said, rubbing his shoulder and pouting.

"Sure, Anders. Come on!" He stood and adjusted his robes, while she was already prancing away.

They did not bother with discretion, running up the stairs the way they did. However, no one saw them, because everyone else was distracted by their own fights.

As they ran through the halls, Anders said, "You do realize they're probably going to drag me back to the circle once this is over, right?"

Celes had never thought about that. "Oh, that's right."

"Well, don't look so broken up over it." He looked at her, all sullen by her lack of response.

"Oh, sorry. I was distracted by the corpses. They really cleaned up well." She looked at the ground as they ran past. The bodies of the dead darkspawn littered the ground, practically clogging up every corridor. They even had to step on the occasional one to get past them. "You know, we could just disappear after the battle. Mysteriously, like spirits."

He had to smile, how could he not? "We? You're coming with me?"

Then came the response, "Only if you want me to."

"It would be nice, not travelling alone all the time." And she nodded in agreement. She then saved her breath and continued at their pace to the top of the fort.

When they reached the roof, Anders almost got singed by the flames that were expelled right in front of him by the archdemon. The others were wearing it down, and it bore cuts along its length. The archdemon was bleeding at the limbs from a huge gash there and its wings were shredded like a piece of cloth that fell prey to an angry cat. A few mages lay unconscious on the floor, and so did Lanaya and an orange-haired dwarf. She focused her attention on the archdemon, already planning the best way to cripple it.

Celes drew her knives. Anders infused them with fire and she cast them. Two knives lodges in each of the archdemon's eye sockets, causing it to roar in pain. The fiery blades melted its eyes, leaving it blinded. At that, she brandished her daggers and rushed forward, past Sierra who looked at her with surprise, and dug her weapons into the dragon's body, using them to climb onto it as it tried vehemently to shake her off.

Sierra called out to her, "Celes! What are you doing?"

She yelled back, "I'm here to help!"

Sierra nodded and Celes suddenly felt a jolt of electricity course through her, causing her to fall off the dragon's back. One of the fool mages had blasted the archdemon with lightning while she was in contact with it and the blades. She looked up and saw her weapons lodged in the dragon's back, right beside its' spikes. Arl Eamon came up beside her and slashed at the dragon's forelegs, causing it fall on its side. It seemed to be weakening.

Celes launched herself on the archdemon again, grabbing hold of her daggers and letting her weight pull her down. The daggers cut through the dragon's hide and exposed its flesh. Its blood wet her arms. They continued hacking at the archdemon until it toppled on its side, defeated. Celes was lying beside it, her leg torn open by its talons. It was then that Sierra came up to the archdemon. Sierra looked Celes in the eye and said something, but she couldn't hear past the ringing in her head.

Sierra then lifted her sword up high, and brought it down swiftly, plunging it through the archdemon's neck.

Blood showered her and she opened her mouth to scream. She started to choke…

_It burns!_

Celes clawed at her neck. Her throat felt like it was on fire. Everything went white.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Again, sorry for the messed up chapter. I don't know when I'll be returning to normal one person POVs since everyone is in one location now. Leave me reviews telling me what you think! Also, additional info on my profile page, including next chapter snippets._

_**Explanations**__:  
Andruil: _Elven Goddess of the Hunt


	8. Aftermath

He was beside her before she hit the ground.

The light that enveloped her was blinding. They could only see a figure, a vague silhouette, convulsing over the body of the archdemon. What happened next was like an explosion.

They were all swept back as a ripple of air swept through the atmosphere surrounding the top of the fort, followed by a ring of light. The cheers rang through the air, but all he could see was her hands relinquishing their hold on the sword. He was beside her in an instant, and her body fell into his arms. He cradled her, and slowly lowered himself onto the hard stone floor.

He felt a dim fading sensation of… something. Some sort of emotion. Then, it was gone. And he felt nothing. He brushed her hair aside softly, looking at her expression.

_Sierra…_

She looked so serene. He wanted to cry, to mourn her, but the tears did not come. They would not.

_Emptiness… _

That is why, he just held her.

* * *

Dread. That was what Alistair felt when he heard the roar that echoed from the top of Fort Drakon. He knew it must be the archdemon, for the darkspawn broke ranks and scattered as well. Had it been slain? But surely...

It dawned upon him. He ran through the cheering crowd, shoving and pushing his way to the stairs. He did not care about being regal anymore. He only knew he had to get up there… He had to know…

_Sierra…_

He reached his destination. His body turned to ice when he saw her, lying in Zevran's arms, unmoving. He made his way forward.

_Left foot, right foot, left, right… _He urged himself forward.

The crowd moved aside and stared at him when he approached. But he did not care. Why should he?

He collapsed on his knees by her side, and looked at Zevran. "Zevran, can I..?" He stretched out his hands, like a beggar pleading for alms.

Wordlessly, Zevran shifted. He handed her body over gently, as if not wanting to wake a sleeping child. As he took her in his arms, his body trembled; whether it was due to the cold emanating from her body or from his own, he was not aware. He gazed down at her face, the one that used to look at him with smiles, smiles that could cheer him up in the darkest of days. He would never see it again. He touched her lips with his finger, those lips that used to kiss him, brush softly against his skin, whisper sweet nothings into his ear. He held her hands; the delicate hands that would find their way around him, never failing to make him feel like the luckiest man on earth. He would never feel it again.

"I should have realized. I'm so sorry," he whispered down at saw tear drops on her cheek. _Was she crying? _Tears rolled down his cheeks in little beads, and he abandoned all pretenses and wept; clutching Sierra to his chest as he did.

_Why did I deserve to live when she did not..?_

At that moment, the world only existed for the two of them. Nothing else mattered.

He was jolted back to reality when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, his tear-stained, grief-stricken face illuminated by the fading sun's glow for all to see.

"Eamon, I…"

"I know, son. I know." He had a pained expression as well. Could he feel his pain?

The atmosphere remained solemn as they descended the tower. He carried Sierra in his arms, unfaltering, unwavering. He headed the group as they made their way down the steps at the entrance of Fort Drakon. The men were cheering, but he heard a clear sound through the revelry. A familiar voice, a low hymn, filled with anguish and sorrow.

He surveyed the crowd. He saw Leliana; standing at the corner of the stairs, eyes closed, her voice reverberating across the plane as she sang for her lost friend. He saw Sten; who had his head bowed, and his right arm crossed over his chest in a sign of respect. He saw Shale; standing by Sten, her arms were stiff at her side, her eyes were dimmer than usual, and he saw what seemed like a single crystalline tear on her face. He came back to himself and realized the cheering had stopped. The crowd was silent, expectant.

They were waiting for him to address them, to tell them of their victory, of the heroic sacrifice. He half-opened his mouth, but the words would not come. In the end, Eamon stepped forward.

The speech ran by his ears, and he only heard portions of it.

"_In War, Victory…Archdemon… Blight has ended…Remember this day…Ferelden…Darkspawn…Never forget…Sacrifices…Grey Wardens…Remain in our hearts."_

The men bowed their heads, and then dispersed. Eamon turned to him, "Come now, lad. Give her to me. You need to go with your people now."

Alistair stared blankly at him. "Alistair. You will have time to grieve later. She gave her life so you could carry on. You must be strong, for now."

_He's right…_ Alistair held a lingering gaze at his former love, and then hesitantly handed her over to Eamon, realizing his hands were sore from carrying her in the full weight of her armor for so long. He looked longingly at her as Eamon carried her to some men who had a sling ready, to bring her back to camp. _We will restore Denerim to its former glory and give you a hero's funeral, Sierra. Maker knows you deserve more._

His eyes followed the men who carried Sierra away. When they disappeared from sight, Alistair was approached by the knight-commander, Eldric.

"Your majesty." He said gruffly and bowed. "All the men are accounted for except Bann Teagan, and eight foot soldiers. Many of the corpses are beyond recognition." He shuddered at that, probably recalling the sight.

"Bann Teagan is missing?" Alistair asked, and the man nodded. _Strange._ "He was fighting at the marketplace, right? I will go see for myself."

On his way to the bridge, he passed an alley he had overlooked before. There he caught a glimpse of Riordan's body, sticking out from behind a barrel. _The men must have missed him in the count. _He moved the barrel aside and sighed. _Sierra, you cunning, devious little… I wish he died instead of you._ The man _was _dead. Guilt washed over him almost immediately.

He walked through the carnage of the marketplace. It was easier to focus on his duties with Sierra gone from his sight, only a little easier. He shifted through the bodies, looking around, hoping to find Teagan, although repelled by the fact that he was looking for him amongst the corpses. When he arrived at the edge of the market district, he heard a faint whining. _That sounds familiar._

He followed the sound to an alley behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern. There, cramped in between the corpse of a mage and Teagan's limp form, was Ash. Around him, at least a dozen darkspawn corpses cluttered the ground. Ash was bleeding out from a rent in his abdomen, and with one look, Alistair knew he was beyond rescue.

"Ash," Alistair called him and the mabari looked up knowingly. With a sad whine, he turned to Teagan who lay unconscious beside him, chest rising and falling which denoted his survival. Ash then laid his head back down on his front paws, heaving painful, irregular breaths.

"He's alive. You protected him, didn't you? Good boy." Alistair kneeled beside Ash and stroked his head. His felt a bitter knot in his throat, knowing that the hound would be as affected by Sierra's death as he was, if not more, being impressed upon her since he was a pup. Alistair remained with Ash until he finally stopped breathing, became still, and passed into the Fade. He scrutinized Ash closely during his final moments. He was a fearsome and faithful war hound, and perhaps his death would be more merciful than suffering the continual loss of presence of his former master. _If only I was as loyal to her to the end, _he thought, and moved to carry Teagan out of the alley.

He returned to camp that night, it had been a long, _long_ day. Halting his steps, he realized he had walked to Sierra's tent. He lingered for a moment and entered. There he found, sitting atop her neatly swathed bedroll, a single rose, tied to a sheet of vellum with a piece of string. Barely able to control himself, he reached for the paper, as though it were a mirage that would disappear if he waited too long or even blinked. He twirled the rose in his fingers, marveling at how well it was preserved. It seems she must have had Morrigan or Wynne cast a spell on it. His eyes stung, remembering the times they shared together on the road; when he teased her about lampposts and she called his bluffs, when she used to give small statuettes to him and their first kiss, their first night together and his sole gift to her.

Alistair retreated into his tent. He untied the rose from the paper and unrolled it while sitting on his makeshift bed. It was a letter, written in a beautiful script. _This is what her handwriting looks like, _he thought. _I've never seen it before. _He scanned the letter once, and then started from the beginning again, poring over every word. It read:

"_Alistair,_

_If you are alive and reading this, it would mean that I have met my end, hopefully by slaying the archdemon. Know that the decision I made was a rational one; for you are to be the King of Ferelden, and I am but a mere Grey Warden._

_I never told you this, but the night before I ended our relationship, Morrigan offered to perform an ancient ritual that would prevent the death of the Grey Warden who slew the archdemon. This ritual would have required you to lay with her, which is why I was in your room that night. A child would be conceived, bearing the taint. And when the archdemon is slain, its essence would seek the child like a beacon, sparing whoever struck the final blow. At this early stage, the child would not perish, but the essence of the Old God would be preserved within it._

_Morrigan refused to tell me her plans for the child, only that she would disappear with it after the battle and that I was never to seek her out. Surely you understand the dangers of tempering with such forms of magic and the Old Gods; it could result in something similar to the Black City. I could not bear such a responsibility. And for my weakness, I apologize._

_I have one last favor to ask of you, that you take care of my dear friend – Celes. She is a very important person to me, in ways you cannot imagine._

_My dear Alistair, I hurt you in so many different ways, but it has never been my intention. What I do, I do for the good of Ferelden and for the people I love. Do not let my sacrifice be for naught. Uphold your duties and watch over your people of Ferelden. I know in my heart that you have the potential to be a great king, I believe in you. My only regret is that I cannot live to see you in your glory, that we could not love one more day._

_Live well, my love. Live for us both._

_S."_

Alistair read the letter countless times, his heart ached, his mind silently screamed for relief, for something to numb the pain. He folded the letter and placed it carefully in the fold of his armor.

The nightmares did not come that eve.

* * *

"Wynne…" Anders looked at the senior mage who was kneeling beside him over Celes. The king had picked up Sierra and left the rooftop, leaving the wounded for the mages to deal with. _Figures the king would just leave._ Thank goodness for Wynne, who stayed behind to help with the healing.

He had planned to leave. Just run, and not look back. But then, they would just catch him again, wouldn't they? And he couldn't really leave a beautiful woman behind, could he? When the king left, he hurried over to Celes' side to check her breathing. He panicked when he felt no pulse, but she was still taking small breaths at a time. It was most… strange.

"Thanks for staying, Wynne," he said, as Wynne held a hand over Celes, a soft glow illuminating her body. Anders had studied healing under Wynne as an apprentice in the tower when he was a little boy. He was rebellious and spiteful, but she was always patient and understanding of him. When he escaped the tower the first time, she was so disappointed in him. She had come to his cell one night, and he was expecting a full on lecture about the dangers of mages and abominations outside the circle. Instead, she surprised him by saying, "What were you thinking, boy? Getting caught like that!" The memory brought a smile to his face, one that disappeared when Wynne said, "Only time will tell if she lives."

"What?" He practically shouted. "What do you mean?"

"Stay calm, Anders. She swallowed copious amounts of the archdemon's blood. I need to talk to Alistair about this. We saw the effects of the darkspawn taint in the deep roads. But this is different, the blood she consumed comes from the archdemon." She looked at Celes and pressed two fingers against her neck. "At least her pulse is back."

"Really?" Anders rushed to feel it too. When he was satisfied that the pulse was there, he released his fingers and looked back at Wynne. "I'll bring her back to camp. When you have spoken to the king…" He looked pleadingly at Wynne. "Please come to look for me, I'll be around."

Wynne nodded and rose to attend to others. He looked back at Celes. Her blood vessels seemed to be pressing against her skin, because he could see the faint blue lines forming webs on the surface of her body. And even though he knew she was breathing and her heart was beating, he did not feel reassured. Taking a deep breath, he lifted her up and carried her back to the campsite.

_Wow, she's actually quite light. Either that or I'm stronger than I thought. _Anders had carried her from the palace district to across the bridge, past the alienage and through the marketplace to reach the gates of Denerim. The troops had moved the campsite closer to the gates as the darkspawn had already fled, so he did not have to walk the four hours to reach the farmland. He laid her down on a bedroll that belonged to another mage as he unrolled hers. When he settled everything, he pulled the sheets up to cover her and sat beside her sleeping form, stretching his limbs.

Celes remained unconscious for two days, during which Anders had to spoon mashed up potato stew to feed her. He wanted to bathe her but thought better of it. _I'm not sure if she'd appreciate that. _Her situation did not improve much, but the blood vessels were less visible now, and she did not twitch and jerk quite so much when she slept anymore. He sometimes wondered why he was staying, but brushed those thoughts aside, telling himself that it is only proper that he do something chivalrous every once in awhile.

The men were busy clearing out the corpses, burning those of the darkspawn and laying aside those of the humans, dwarves and elves. The camp was in a hubbub, with the injured members restless to escape the confines of their beds, and with men celebrating and telling tales of their roles in the battle, each trying to outdo the other with how many darkspawn they managed to kill. Anders was trying to recount how many darkspawn he killed while watching the soldiers file in and out the city gates when he heard her scream.

Celes had bolted upright, clutching her head while screaming. The men sitting by the campfire suddenly grew quiet and were staring their way with naked curiosity. "Damn," Anders held back for awhile, not knowing what to do, then he reached forward and held her tight. It took a few seconds for her screaming to subside into soft sobs against his chest.

"He tried… to take me… They were coming… I couldn't… do… anything…" she managed a few words in between sobs, and he rubbed her back soothingly.

"It's alright… Nobody's coming to take you anywhere. You're safe now. It was just a bad dream." He smoothed her hair down and waited for her to stop crying.

"Anders? Where am I?" Celes whispered against his neck, causing him to shiver slightly. He never held a woman so close before.

"You're at camp. We're outside Denerim." He held her back and looked at her, "You were unconscious for two days, Celes… You had me worried sick." He let out a nervous laugh. Should he be relieved? "How are you feeling?"

She held a hand to her forehead. "I feel… Very tired."

Anders chuckled, "I'm sure, sleeping for two days must have been exhausting." She was about to retort when he silenced her by saying, "I'm going to go look for Wynne, wait here and be a good girl, alright?" She nodded and he smiled. "No more fainting on me." He walked off.

Wynne was in the infirmary, bending over a knight whose leg was mutilated under his crushed armor. She did not even look up when Anders approached.

"She's awake." Anders said plainly.

"Who?" Wynne touched the man's thigh, "Do you feel anything?"

"Celes. That girl… Don't tell me you forgot? She's the one who swallowed the archdemon blood!" Anders tilted to his right, placing his right hand on his hip. The man lying on the bed was telling Wynne about feeling prickly.

"Wait, let me finish, boy. You were always the impatient one." Wynne shooed him away and turned back to the knight. Anders huffed, sat on the nearby chair, folded his arms and waited. He watched as Wynne asked the knight a few more questions and came walking to him.

"So, when did she wake up?"

"Moments before I arrived here. She was screaming and talking about dreams. Have you talked to the king about this?"

"Yes, of course. This is important. I did not tell you this yet because Alistair wanted to wait until after the funeral." Wynne's tone was placating, and Anders felt the wind being taken out of his sails. "So…?" he resorted to prompting her.

"Well, bring me to her, child. I'll tell you both together." Anders led Wynne to their spot and sat beside Celes, facing Wynne.

"I'm cold," she said, pulling the sheets tighter around her body. _She's so vulnerable, _he thought. Celes was looking at Wynne, a strange expression on her face. Her head tilted to one side, her eyebrows pressed together, "I know you from somewhere." She huddled up and said, "You gave me medicine before the battle."

Wynne smiled, "Her memory seems fine. That's a good sign." She turned to Anders, "Have you told her about what happened?"

Anders shook his head, "Only that she's been sleeping for two days."

"I'm right here, you know." Celes said, while rubbing her hands together and then rubbing her arms.

"Celes, you swallowed profuse amounts of archdemon blood when it was slain. Are you aware of this?" Celes frowned and looked at her feet. "I… remember. It felt as though my throat was on fire. Then it was as though my whole body was on burning. Like liquid fire was coursing through my veins." Celes held her hands up and examined them, "Does that mean I have archdemon blood in me?"

She was replied with a solemn nod from Wynne. "Yes. And in time, you will either perish, or succumb to the taint, turning you into… a horrible creature; A monstrosity beyond your worst nightmares." Her voice dropped so low that Anders had to wonder what exactly it was that she witnessed in the deep roads. She continued, "Alistair has informed me that he does not wish death upon you. However, the only way he can think of to keep you alive is to conscript you into the Grey Wardens and hope that their Joining ritual saves you from the taint. He's considering a few other recruits, and will perform the ritual at the end of the week, after Sierra's funeral. If you agree, of course." _Not that she has much of a choice, _Anders thought to himself. _They will kill her if she doesn't agree._

Unexpectedly, Wynne turned to Anders and said, "I spoke to Alistair about you, and your situation, Anders. I also told him about your remarkable healing talents and how you studied under 'his favouritest mage ever'. He offers you a place among the Grey Wardens, if you will take it. This way, you needn't worry about the templars who are hunting you down. Give it a thought." Anders was awestruck. "Now, I have to go. There are many soldiers in the infirmary who need my attention. I will see you both soon." Wynne rose and walked away.

Anders looked up into the starry night sky and said to himself, "Me? A Grey Warden?" He laughed, "I guess that will work…" He then looked over at Celes. She was still huddled up in her sheets, shivering more than ever. He moved closer to take her into his arms. She did not push him away.

* * *

_**AN:**__ No, Wynne does not know about the Joining. This chapter took me ages to proofread. How long does it take you guys to read one chapter? I'd love to know.  
I might not update until Friday because of my exams, but seriously, writing is addictive. Catratos has spotted the title reference "We love one more day" in the letter. So I've written a flashback for Sierra/Celes' relationship. It's rated M and is on my profile seperate from this story. But in the future, this will definitely be changed to M; so it won't automatically show up on the front page when I update anymore. Anyway, the side story is best read after this and the next chapter. So it's kinda like Chapter 8.5 :)  
_


	9. Join Us

_**A/N: **__Do remember that the side story "Youth" should be read before this chapter for best effect. (It can be found on my profile page) This story will be changed to M soon, so if you want to keep track of it, please subscribe. Thanks for all your support! R&R*

* * *

_

_**9:31 Dragon**_

"_The people would remember this as the year Grey Warden Sierra killed the Archdemon Urthemiel, and ended the fifth blight."_

She didn't believe him when he said Sierra was dead_. How could she..?_

_I only just found her. _Separated after being reunited only for a day… Fate is a cruel mistress. But perhaps, this is how it was meant to be. She had already done her grieving. There was nothing more to feel sad for. Or so she thought, until she stood at Sierra's funeral.

It was a pleasant summers day, though the weather was becoming increasingly colder, signifying the coming of fall. _She used to visit during fall. _Memories flooded her mind.

A week after the Battle of Denerim, the town was purged of all corpses. King Alistair had argued for the memorial to be held before his proper coronation, for a coronation would require celebration, and he did not feel like celebrating just yet. They held the memorial service outside the castle, around the palace district. There were at least a hundred people gathered at the memorial service; including nobles, banns, freeholders, dwarves and city and townsfolk who travelled to Denerim for this event. Among the crowd, she recognized Wynne, Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde, Bann Teagan and Leliana. The Dalish, dwarves and Circle mages were not present, but there were the representatives and the odd few. All the mourners had their eyes downcast, and Celes could hear the occasional sob over the silence, until King Alistair began his speech.

"My friends, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to the Grey Warden that saved us all.  
She gave her life to destroy the Blight, a sacrifice we must never forget.  
It was no accident that she was there either, she was special and each of us had our lives touched by her in some way."

She could already hear Anders shifting on the spot next to her. _He's so restless._

Celes was standing near the rear, where Sierra's body was nearly obscured from view. Sierra was laid on a rectangular waist-high stone slab, with her palms resting over each other on her abdomen. She held a single red rose. She saw Alistair pause, and it looked almost as if he whispered something to her. Then he looked back up at the crowd.

"The Grey Wardens couldn't have asked for anyone finer.  
How do you properly honor someone like that?  
The Grey Wardens are building a magnificent tomb in Weisshaupt, right next to Garahel's.  
But I'd like to do something as well."

He paused for effect, then continued, "Fergus Cousland, please step forward."

_Oh Maker. Is that…? It's the stick-man! He certainly filled out._ Celes eyed Fergus as he stepped out of the crowd and stood before his sister and the king.

"We were very pleased to discover you alive. Your sister thought you had died in Ostagar."  
Fergus replied, "I only wish I had recovered from my wound sooner."

The King stated, "Fergus, the Highever lands are restored to you. In addition to the Amaranthine arling that was Arl Howes."

To which he responded, "Your majesty, I would like to give Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens."

The King nodded and said, "I think that would be fitting." Then raised his voice to address the crowd, "Let all know that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There, they can rebuild and hopefully live up to this example. Friends, let us hope that she has gone on to a better place and that she knows just how thankful we are for what she has done here."

_So Amaranthine goes to the Grey Wardens…_

She saw real pain in his eyes when he said, "You will be missed, more than I can possibly say." _I wonder if there ever was anything between Sierra and the king. _Idle thoughts. Better than bittersweet memories.

Anders tugged at her dress. She had worn a dark gown she borrowed from Wynne, thinking it would only be appropriate. But everyone else wore bright colours, and it left her feeling a bit silly. "Well, you don't have to pull at my sleeves to get my attention, Anders." She gave him a weak smile. "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

"You know… About the Joining." Anders muttered beneath his breath. Yes, the Joining. Celes did not understand why the King had to be so bloody secretive about it. But she understood his anxiety. The Revered Mother was already complaining about the King putting Grey Warden affairs before the crown.

"First, the memorial. And now, your silly rituals!" she had argued.

King Alistair's voice dropped to a dangerously low tone, "You would not even _be _here if not for the Grey Wardens. And you would do well to remember your place. The coronation can wait. For now, there are more pressing matters to attend to." He shot a quick look at Celes, likely as reference. After all, she was the one tainted with the 'oh-so-scary' archdemon blood. They would not tell her, no matter how often she asked, what her fate would be if the Joining ritual didn't work. Would the tainted blood kill her? Turn her into an abomination?

"Yes, Anders… I'm nervous too." She stood stiffly, watching the crowd walk up to Sierra to pay their last respects. "We'll talk after the service."

When the crowd has dissipated, and all the people had left, the King approached them.

"Celes, Anders." He said, nodding at them both.  
"Your Majesty." They bowed in respect.

"Please, call me Alistair. After all, a friend of Sierra's is a friend of mine." He was examining her with a curious look on his face. Celes shifted uncomfortably. "Also, I'd like to be on a first name basis with all my fellow Grey Wardens. Now, I'd like to talk to you and the other recruits about the excursion. However, I have some matters I need to attend to in the palace. So could you go get the other recruits and meet me there?"

They consented and he continued, "Great. Here are their names, Eldric, Yuri, Damien, Nelis, and Hughe. They should all be around the marketplace…" Then he added as an afterthought, "or The Pearl." With that, he turned and left. Stopping short over Sierra's body and giving some instructions to the men nearby about embalming it in wait of the Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt.

"So we're errand-boys now? Or girls, in your case." He corrected himself hastily, already wincing from the smack on the shoulders he anticipated.

"Let's just go." It hadn't been a good week, especially with all the headaches and constant shifts in temperature only she seemed to be experiencing. Celes started towards the bridge.

They found Ser Eldric, the former knight-commander of the Redcliffe battalion, browsing shields at Wade's Emporium. Yuri and Damien, his knights, were found nearby as well. After looking around some more, they found Nelis, a female mage, flirting with a man named Cesar in the marketplace. _Is it true that all mages are promiscuous? I'll have to ask Anders about that later._ Celes made a mental note.

The group couldn't find the last man, Hughe, in the market district. Resigned, they left for the Pearl. They certainly gave Sanga a scare, a big group walking around asking questions. Later, they found out that Hughe was a bouncer in the Pearl. He was the one who got the people out to safety by fighting the darkspawn during the attacks. Hughe was a big hulk of a man, but was full of good cheer. With all the recruits assembled, they left for the palace.

When they were admitted into the semi-circular hall which functioned as the court room, Alistair was busy talking to one of the Chapel priestesses about the coronation functions. They kneeled before the dais where he stood. He noticed them and asked them to rise.

"Please, don't…" he refrained, carefully placing his next words. "Just treat me as you would a senior Grey Warden." Alistair stepped down from the dais and approached them. "I sense a band of darkspawn slightly north of Denerim. I would have ordered their culling earlier under normal circumstances, but we need the fresh darkspawn blood for the Joining. We will head there, kill the lot, and collect what we need. Is that understood?"

They trekked for a day towards the north of Denerim, and as they approached the hillside, they found the quarry where the band of darkspawn settled. There were three and twenty darkspawn banded together with an emissary in their midst. No trouble. Eldric and Alistair fought with shield and sword, while Yuri and Damien alternated between ranged and melee attacks, shooting bolts and arrows from afar, drawing their weapons when the enemy came too close. Nelis specialized in entropy spells, weakening the darkspawn, making them easy pickings for the others. Hughe wielded a humongous maul in one hand and a shield in the other, and definitely seemed to be the strongest member in the party.

When the darkspawn corpses scattered the ground, Alistair told everyone to fill their vials. Celes looked at the vial in her hand… She has handled many disgusting things before, and faced more darkspawn in a month than most people do in their lifetime; darkspawn blood was no big deal.

"Oh… Gross. You do it, Celes." Anders' face was a pale shade of green. His face was turned away from the vile creatures while he proffered his vial to Celes.

She laughed, took his vial and said, "You really are fragile. But all right, since you saved my life twice." His reaction was understandable since, as a mage, he never really had the need to go up close to his enemies, never drew blood with magic, never felt its warm spray on his face. She could still laugh at it though.

When they returned to the palace, Alistair took their vials and disappeared into the second drawing room, where the First Enchanter was waiting for him. "Come back here tonight. Everything should be ready for the Joining ritual then."

They were outside the Royal Palace, stepping down the stairs to the elaborate garden. Eldric suggested they go to the tavern, and surprisingly, everyone agreed. They made their way past a magnificent circular fountain that towered as high as three men, the neatly trimmed shrubs, and the tall shaped topiaries that were cleared of all traces of the carnage the week before. Celes steered clear of the pond as they walked by it. The city of Denerim was in amazing shape, considering what it looked like when the darkspawn attacked.

At the Gnawed Noble Tavern, they sat at a large round table and talked about everything and anything. Some of the local people came up to them and asked them to recall stories about the battle, some came to offer thanks, and some just peered at them like they were rare specimens put on display. Anders wrinkled his brow and said, "They're scared."

Celes gave him a questioning look. "Knights and mages. Especially mages." Anders explained, as though that was supposed to make her understand. Eldric just "Ahh"-ed in response.

"But aren't there templars around?" Celes asked.

"Yes, but it doesn't make them fear us any less." Nelis replied sardonically.

They moved on to more cheerful topics. Hughe was telling them about all the nasty things the Pearl patrons ask for, including the time one young girl insisted on two nugs and an old dwarven man dressed in a skirt. "She said, 'He has to have a _long_ beard'. Maker knows what she wanted to do with that!"

The others spoke of their homes; Yuri was originally from the southern bannorn. His father was slaughtered by darkspawn while he managed to flee with his mother and sister towards Redcliffe. But the refuge did not last long, for soon after, the attacks from Redcliffe Castle began and he was drafted into the knights' ranks to fight. Eldric was the knight-commander of Redcliffe and the one leading the search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. He put Ser Perth in command while he was away. He had returned months later, dejected from the fruitless search, to find half the town gone and Arl Eamon cured of his mysterious illness by the Grey Warden Sierra, who had found the Urn before him. Damien was a strange lad, he put on a façade of foppishness and idiocy but Celes suspected he was smarter than he lets on. His fighting skills were nothing to scoff at either. Nelis didn't have much to say about her history. Similar to Anders, she had the memories of her family erased when she entered the Circle. Hughes was born to one of the whores in the Pearl and grew up there, eventually becoming their bouncer. His mother died from a strange disease contracted from a patron. He had learned how to wield a weapon from one of the wandering travelers who passed through the whorehouse, in exchange for a night of his services.

When the others looked expectantly at Celes, she only shrugged and said, "My parents were killed by bandits when I was seven. The Howes of Amaranthine took me in as a servant girl. Arl Howe met his end, and I had to leave. So, here I am." She knew these people were not judgmental, but she could not help but hold onto her secrets.

Soon, it was time to head back to the palace. There, they stood in line, watching as Alistair poured a dark red mixture into a chalice. Anders whispered to her, "I think I know what the blood was for."

Celes rolled her shoulders back and said, "I could think of worse."

"Eww." Anders grimaced. "What's wrong with you?"

Alistair took the chalice in his hands and walked over to face them all. He said, "Today, we witness the rebirth of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I shall speak the words that have been said since the first Joining."

"_Join us, brothers and sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  
Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.  
And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.  
And that one day we shall join you."_

_Perish? Sacrifice? Dear Maker…_

Alistair made his way to the first person on the right, Hughe. "As of this moment, Hughe, you are a Grey Warden." Hughe took the cup from Alistair. "It is an honor," he said, and drank. When he returned the cup, his pupils rolled back in his sockets and he fainted. Gasps were heard. Alistair kneeled beside him, pulled his eyelids up slightly and declared, "He lives. Do not worry, he will awaken in time."

Celes realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled slowly as Alistair moved on to Eldric. Eldric survived the Joining as well, promptly collapsing beside Hughe. It would almost seem humorous if the same fate or worse was not awaiting her. Nelis was not so lucky, however. Even as she drank, she started choking. Dropping the chalice and spilling its contents, she fell forward, as though her legs suddenly lost its strength. She let out a hoarse cry, clutching her neck. Then, she crashed forward, and Alistair looked away. "I am sorry, Nelis."

Damien and Yuri reeled when Nelis died. Anders just looked sadly at his fellow mage who lay on the floor beside him. Then it was his turn.

"From this moment forth, Anders, you are a Grey Warden." Alistair stood before him and held out the goblet.

"So we need to drink darkspawn blood? That's it?" Anders' right eyebrow lifted a notch.

Alistair's brow lifted a lot more when he heard the question. It seemed to throw him off. "Uhh… There's archdemon blood and lyrium in it too. But yes, that is it." _Anders, you moron._

"Well all right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I'm blaming you." Anders took the cup from him and drank. Celes offered a silent prayer to the Maker. _Please, let him live._ And he did.

Then, all too soon, he was standing before her. "Celes…" Alistair looked as though he wanted to say more. But wanting to get it over and done with, Celes took the cup from his hands and drank. The crimson liquid flowed down her throat and she could practically feel it running through her veins. It felt… exhilarating. _Oh Maker, don't tell me I actually like this repulsive concoction?_ She braced herself, fully expecting to fall forward and die, but she didn't. She opened her eyes, and saw Alistair, Yuri and Damien staring at her.

"What?" she asked. Alistair pointed at her hands. She lifted them to her eye level and saw her webbed marks, the lines of her blood vessels glowing a pale blue. "I… What is happening?"

Alistair shook his head, and then realized he had to continue with the Joining. He turned and walked to Yuri. Celes was too preoccupied with her skin to care. _What is this? _She scratched at the fell markings, wishing them away. They looked demonic, and wrong. But they would not disappear, not matter how much she rubbed or scratched. A scream wrought her attention. She turned and saw both Yuri and Damien lying on the ground. Alistair's hands were hanging loosely at his sides. "This…" He started to say something, but calmed himself. He turned to her and said, "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death… Sacrifice. The Grey Warden motto. Never forget that." He replaced the chalice on the table and called for the servants.

The glow had disappeared. "I am glad you survived. Sierra would be pleased, too." There was a tinge of sadness in his tone at Sierra's mention that made her wonder again if they were as platonic as they seemed. The servants had carried away the bodies. Those who survived were brought to the bedrooms, and those who did not, were… She did not, nor did she want to know.

"Come." Alistair said, and she followed. Her mind was in a daze from the events. She knew not what to make of everything that happened. They entered the drawing room. "I feel you should know this, Celes." He said as he sat down on the chair and gestured for her to do the same. "Sierra left me with the task of protecting you, and I do not know how I am going to do that. I would never ask you to become a Grey Warden if there was no need. By submitting ourselves to the taint, we shorten our life spans. And I'm pretty sure this is not what she meant by 'protect'."

_Shorten… what?_ Celes was too giddy to reply, so Alistair continued. "She said… that you were important. But she did not specify how. And I will not pry either, I mean, I am curious, but I won't pry." Celes rested her elbow on the armrest and laid her cheek on her palm in an attempt to look disinterested. _She said I was important, huh?_

"When I heard from Wynne that you swallowed archdemon blood… I did not know what to think, and did not know how to save you, except putting you through the Joining ritual and hope that you would master the taint. It seems you have, thank the Maker. And so did your protective apostate friend. But you are a strange one…" His lips clamped together, probably thinking about her little 'glowing' episode. "I… I have devised a way to keep you out of Grey Warden matters, but before all that… Here."

He held out a small engraved, silver pendant on a chain. In the between the layers of translucent glass, was a deep purplish-red substance, with the tiniest pocket of air. On its rim was a ring of silverite, and there engraved the words "In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice." It was eerily beautiful in its own grisly way. "It holds some of the blood from your Joining. Something to remind us of those who did not make it this far… It is almost identical to Sierra's." He was clutching another around his left palm. _That must be Sierra's pendant. How sentimental._ She refused to become emotional.

"Thank you." Celes slipped the chain over her head, and the pendant rested right between her collarbones. "You had a certain plan for me, Alistair?"

He stirred, and said, "Yes. I believe you did not have much choice regarding the matter of joining the Grey Wardens. I'm sure Wynne informed you of what would happen if you didn't." He sighed. "If it makes things any better, I plan to give you a decorative role as the King's Consul. And we shall try not to publicize the fact that you are a Grey Warden."

_That must be partially why my pendant looks more like a piece of jewelry than his._

"But what would I do, then? I don't think being a Grey Warden is a bad thing. I relish a bit of adventure." Celes cocked her head a little. She appreciated that he was trying to do something for her, but she did not wish to become a lazy noblewoman in the palace. Now that she had a taste of it, she craved freedom.

Alistair uttered something so soft she could not hear it. He mulled it over for awhile then said, "Hmm… I have a solution. You will remain the King's Consul, but I will send you on occasional missions. The King always needs someone who is free from the reign of politics. Is that satisfactory?"

"And what of Anders?"

"Anders will have to remain here with the Grey Wardens. But you will see each other, and you can bring him with you if his duty permits it. After all, he _was_ an apostate, and the templars would not be very happy if he was made a Grey Warden just for show." Celes nodded. She did not like it, but it was necessary. She had grown fond of the little big man lately; he was a lot of fun to have around. _And very useful for saving lives._

"Don't worry too much about it. For now, go back to your room and rest. I'm sure you're tired." Celes did not realize it until then, but she was.

"Thank you, Alistair." She stood and headed to the door. Before she stepped out, she turned and asked, "Err… Where can I find Anders?"

Alistair smiled and said, "He should be in the guest room right next to the Azure Drawing Room. Head out the grand hall, turn left and keep going past the chapel and rooms until you reach the Azure Drawing Room at the end. The room beside it should be Anders'. And the one opposite that is yours to use if you so wish. Of course, as the King's Consul, you will need a more permanent place to stay… But we'll talk about that next time."

Celes thanked him again and rushed off to look for her companion.

She did not bother to knock, thinking he would still be unconscious. But when she opened the door…

"AHHH!" He screamed. And a girly scream it was, at that. Then she saw _it_. His robes were cast on his bed, and he was standing right by the mirror in all his manly glory.

She screamed too.


	10. Of Nightmares and Dreams

_**A/N: **__Warning. Fluff chapter. I couldn't resist! But be warned, here be FLUFF!

* * *

_

"What are you doing naked?" Celes was shielding her eyes with her hand, blushing profusely.

"What are you doing in my room?" Anders was grabbing for his robe and hastily putting it on. His ears were red.

"I was worried! I came to see you." Celes was squatting behind the bedpost now, too late did she realize that she should have just ran out of the room the moment she came in. "Are you… Have you put your robe back on yet?" She could not bring herself to say 'naked' one more time, because it just brought the whole image back into her mind.

Anders cleared his throat, and said, "Yes… Err. You can come out from there now." Her hands wrapped behind her neck and she hesitated. "It's… safe, now. Just, just come out, please." She could hear the distress in his tone and she got up.

She got up and sat on the opposite side of the large bed, the folds sank in with her as she sat down. _This is so… soft._ It made her think about Sierra. That was the only time she ever slept on such a nice bed. Anders was beside himself on the other end of the bed. It was a huge bed. They both sat in silence for a few moments, averting their gaze, while the tense atmosphere slowly loosened.

Celes knew Anders wouldn't say anything, so she had to be the one to break the silence. "Anders." "Celes." _Ah. _How ironic that they should start to speak at the same time.

"You first." She said.

"No, no. Ladies first." The room fell silent again.

"I, It's not what you think." Anders stammered.

"And what exactly was I thinking?" Celes could not help but smirk at his discomfort.

"You… Never mind. It was the dreams." Celes was looking at him now, and he shuddered when he mentioned the dreams. "It was horrible." He said, "I had to see if the scars were real."

"Dreams?" Celes asked, and he nodded.

"Yes. The nightmares. Come to think of it, I woke up the same way you did; shouting. It felt like my head was going to explode." Anders held a hand to his forehead, almost as if he was checking that it was there. He looked scared.

_He's right. I did have dreams._ It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? The more she thought about it, the more she believed it meant something. "We should ask Alistair about this. He might be able to enlighten us." She watched him closely, "What was it like?"

Anders leaned against his pillow and said, "Pretty much how you described it, really. Burning sensation, like my throat was on fire. But I think yours might have been worst. You were out cold for two days. You also complained about changing from feeling hot and humid to dry and cold, when everyone else was sweating buckets in camp. So, what happened to you? I see you got yourself something new and shiny." He reached for her pendant and she slapped his hand away.

"Don't be such a child." She chided him jokingly and he pouted. "For your information, unlike _some, _I did not collapse like a frail princess after drinking from that cup." She then clamped her mouth shut, realizing she had set herself a trap.

"Ha! This coming from the one who fainted for two whole days, and had to be spoon-fed mashed potatoes!" Anders crossed his arms behind his head and lay back on the cushions, chuckling.

"Whatever, Anders. You scream like a girl." Her eyes narrowed. "Now we're even. You fainted, I fainted. You screamed, and I screamed. And we both saw more of each other than we should have. So drop it already." Celes fidgeted, ruffling up the sheets beneath her. Her face and its usually pale complexion was now a shade of light pink. _I will not indulge in such childishness. I will not fight back. I am a calm, mature person. _She chanted the repetitive mantra to keep herself from launching her full weight at Anders and throwing him off the bed.

"Well all right, if you'll stop rocking the damned bed." Celes realized she was moving her weight in a way that made the bed bounce up and down. She couldn't help it, it was so soft and bouncy; unlike the other beds she slept in all her life save for one. "And you never answered my question."

Celes quickly filled him in on what happened during her Joining, including the deaths of Yuri and Damien. Then she told him about Alistair's plans for her and the Warden's Oath she now wore around her neck. "I think he has one for everybody." Anders nodded, and said, "I don't like the idea of sending you on missions by yourself. I hope he at least sends people with you."

"I'm sure he will. After all, I do seem like the right damsel of distress, don't I?" Celes feinted frailty on the bedpost beside her, a naughty glint in her eye. "But I do think you play the part better than I do, Anders."

"Shut up." He huffed and sat up straight again, "I wonder what it's going to be like, being a Grey Warden."

On that serious note, Celes replied, "What more could you ask for? You get respect and reverence."

He sighed dramatically, "All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal and the right to shoot lightning at fools." He looked out the window at the stars in the sky.

Celes suddenly felt a bit sorry for him. _You're getting soft, Leonar._ "I'm sure they are all available to the glorious Grey Wardens; all the wenches, food and wine that you could ever wish for. And I'm insulted you never noticed the pretty girl right here." She gestured at her form while saying so, looking hurt.

Anders gave her a scrutinizing look, perhaps wondering if she was trying to pull a fast one on him. "Hmm. Maybe I'm closer to that dream than I imagined." He smiled at her.

"Don't get all serious on me, Anders. I like you better when you're relaxed." She sprawled out on the bed. Anders looked at her for awhile, and said, "I see." Then he placed his hands on his lap and said, "I think you should go back to your room, Celes. It's getting late."

She looked at him in surprise. This was unexpected, but she knew when she overstayed her welcome. She nodded and said, "Good night then, Anders. Sleep well." She exited the room and retired to her own.

Celes shut the door behind her and looked around her temporary lodging. The room was elegantly furnished, with polished redwood floors and a stunning marble vanity with a matching wardrobe. There were many pieces of furnishing; wooden end tables, a velvety carpet, two armchairs and a table, and more; but the item that commanded Celes' attention was the bed. The canopy bed's wooden posts were intricately carved, with silk throwbacks and the duvet was soft and the sheets were smooth. Celes could not wait to throw herself onto it.

After dropping her pack onto the stand at the bed's end, she removed the armor and changed into a clean strophium. She slipped under the covers and laid her head onto the soft, down-cushioned pillows. The castle could be overrun by darkspawn at that very moment, and she would not notice, for all she could care about then was her first night alone in her very own luxurious bedroom.

But she could not sleep, something was nagging at her. _Anders. _How dare he give her guilt trips? She had done nothing wrong. The little voice in her head scolded, "_You don't take him seriously."_

_I should apologize, _she thought. On impulse, she lifted herself off the side of the mattress, and slipped on the pair of slippers she found under her bed. She stepped out into the hallway, and turned the knob on his door. It was not locked again. _Figures._

Careful not to make a sound, Celes lithely made her way to the side of his bed. _Oh, I can't resist!_ She blew a breath of cold air on the back of Ander's neck, and then disappeared into the shadows.

He was up straight away. "Wha..? Who is that?" Anders pulled the covers aside, and Celes saw that he was bare from the waist up, only wearing a pair of loose breeches that was held up with a string running through the middle, knotted in the front. It looked so easy to pull down. _No. No I won't. _She couldn't help but giggle a bit, imagining his response, before she clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Celes? Is that you?" He bent over the left side of her bed as she made her way over to the right side and came up behind his back.

"Boo." She whispered into his ear, and he fell off the edge. She reappeared and giggled uncontrollably.

"Oh, you think this is funny now, do you?" Anders was climbing back onto the bed.

He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her beneath him. Her laughing slowly subsided because she was running out of breath. Her eyes opened wide as she noticed him on top of her. Before she could react, his lips brushed against her ear and he whispered, "You're going to regret this." She felt his hands snake up her thighs to the sides of her waist. And she shrieked.

"Ah! Get off me! Stop! Anders! Can't… breathe!" Anders was tickling her relentlessly at the sides, and she tried to push his arms away, but he was surprisingly strong for a mage. She never knew she was so ticklish; it could be a result of not being touched by anyone for so long. Then she realized the only reason he managed to tickle her was because she was in her strophium, which only covered her breasts and unmentionables. His chest brushed against her lightly when she wriggled underneath him while attempting to escape his grasp. She felt heat rush to her cheeks and noticed Anders had stopped – which was the reason she could think properly for a moment – and was laughing to himself. She lay there for a few moments, panting, catching her breath. Both of them were flushed from the close contact and lightheaded from all the laughter.

"Anders…" She looked up into his deep honey eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hmm. I think I might be able to forgive you. Especially since you came to me in the dead of night wearing _that. _I could get used to this." He ran an eye down her body and grinned. "Besides, I could not stay angry at you if I tried, my dear lady. Now go back to bed before I ravage you with my bare hands and teeth." Anders thumb ran over the outline of her cheekbone gently and then he returned to his side of the bed and started to pull up his covers.

Celes smiled and thought; _now I can sleep._


	11. I Hate My Life

_What is she doing?_

The chambermaid he sent to check on Celes had returned, saying that she was still asleep. Alistair had hoped to see her that morning, but it seems that would not be happening. He sighed and said, "Make sure to send some food to her room later." She would be hungry when she woke up.

He turned his attention back to the table, where he had invited Anders, Hughe and Eldric to dine with him. Anders seemed to be looking at his plate like the food would jump off the plate and attack him at any moment; _maybe he hasn't seen baked cheese pears before. _ Hughe was gratefully gorging himself beside Eldric, who was sending disgusted looks his way. And Eldric was the refined gentleman, prim and proper with perfect etiquette.

That morning, he gathered the three men to tell them about their duties as becoming Grey Wardens, and the consequences. He told them about the dreams, the changes, the political neutrality, Celes' position, and the Calling. He filled in some gaps in their information holds including where darkspawn come from and other questions they had for him. After that, he handed them their Warden's Oaths. Alistair never told them, but he made the trinkets himself. And he was secretly proud of his work.

"Anders, remember to tell Celes, once she's awake, that she should see the palace seamstress about having a dress made." He remarked idly at the table.

Anders looked up, fork in hand, and said, "All right. What is it for?"

"It's for the coronation ceremony and everyone here is invited." Alistair sighed. He did not look forward to the event. "That means Hughe, Eldric and yourself should get some proper attire as well. It's at the end of the week." He broke off, not knowing what else to add.

"Fantastic. I have just the thing for it." Eldric wiped his hands on the napkin and replaced it on his lap, looking smug. Hughe just grunted and continued eating. Anders was resting his elbows on the table, his food almost untouched. He said, "Is it where you get crowned?" He snickered.

"Ha, that's a good one." Alistair laughed, not noticing Hughe groaning at the bad pun.

After the uneventful breakfast, Alistair left to the study to oversee the guest list. "Eamon, is it too late to resign now?" he joked. Eamon looked up and said, "Alistair, be serious. You _are_ the King of Ferelden, and you cannot think that way."

Alistair exhaled and said, "I know, I know. It's just, sometimes I look around the great hall and I still cannot believe it. I'm King! I mean, king!" He waved his hands over his imaginary crown to emphasize his point and Eamon chuckled. "Yes, my boy. I know. Come, sit down."

They pored over the people they invited and Alistair's thoughts could not help but wander towards his missing companions. Shale had returned to Orzammar to aid the Legion of the Dead in keeping the darkspawn at bay, saying something about "No birds in Orzammar." Leliana was remaining in the city for awhile, since she would be going with Brother Genetivi and the Chantry on an expedition to the Frostback Mountains in search of the Sacred Ashes. He wasn't sure where Oghren was, but had a sneaking suspicion the grumpy drunkard was staying at the Tavern and frequenting the Pearl. He wouldn't miss the coronation for anything. After all, that was when the ales from all over Thedas would be imported to the Palace. Wynne had agreed to stay on as a court advisor, and he was glad. Alistair had grown fond of the old mage; she was like a grandmother to him. However, she had returned to the Circle of Magi to sort out some things and promised to be back before the coronation, to stay. His heart pained for Ash. The hound had been loyal to the end and would have probably attached himself to Sten had he survived. They were so similar and so many bizarre ways. However, Sten had disappeared, as did Zevran after the battle. But Alistair never thought much about it, he never really found kinship in those two anyway.

"…and Bann Sighard will be coming with his son, Oswyn and his two daughters, Marianne and Jenal. I propose granting Bann Sighard the province of Gwaren. He has provided us with much aid in the rebuilding of Denerim, and it seems like a proper reward for his services. He was also in favor of your ascension to the throne during the Landsmeet. Sighard will be a strong ally." Eamon was droning on about each and every one of their guests, talking about how to behave around them, what their titles were and which family members would be with them. Also, Alistair had to memorize every gift that they sent so he could thank them for it later. The formality and rigidity of it all made his brain ache.

He was toying with the golden arrow sent by Bann Alfstanna when he heard Eamon mention 'marriage'. His neck whipped immediately to his direction. "What did you say?"

"I said, you should think about marriage soon. And I'm only assuming this because you have not announced plans to marry Anora, which I deem highly unlikely." Eamon looked troubled at Anora's mention. She has always been a royal pain in the arse.

Anora refused to swear fealty to Alistair and had left them hard-pressed to make a decision regarding her fate. Alistair had contemplated releasing her, but Eamon advised against it on the grounds of a possible coup d'etat if she were to lead a resistance. When Alistair suggested an execution instead, Eamon fell silent. He knew what he was thinking. Anora was loved by the people and had been a good queen throughout her reign with Cailan. A public execution would only be a blow towards his already-weak support from the people. But perhaps now, with the Blight defeated, the citizens of Ferelden would see him in a better light. Not as the opportunistic bastard-prince, but as the King of Ferelden who marched into battle to save Denerim.

Eamon continued, "Hence, as I said before, if Bann Sighard is made Teyrn of Gwaren, it would be suitable if you were to marry one of his daughters."

"Eamon, I…" Alistair started before he was cut off. Eamon put a hand on his shoulder and said, "I know you are not ready yet, son. And I understand that you wish to grieve for Sierra. But the kingdom does not need a solitary monarch. In addition to that, there is the fact that you were chosen as King due to your Theirin bloodline. You _will_ need to marry one day and will be expected to produce an heir. I am merely asking you to consider the option."

Alistair nodded, and said, "I will." He paused briefly, letting the words sink in, and then continued, "Furthermore, I have given the matter of Anora's punishment some thought. What do you think of an exile sentence?"

Eamon looked surprised, "That sounds interesting. Please, elaborate."

"I do not want to execute her, but I cannot let her roam free in Ferelden either. You know this, Eamon. That power-hungry, backstabbing snake would gather supporters and rebel against the throne." Alistair scratched his head, "I think we could talk to the Orlesian ambassador and arrange for her to be exiled to Orlais, where she can do us no harm but still live a normal life."

"Alistair, you are too charitable. But I agree. It is more preferable than executing her. You might have a politician's mind, after all, lad." Eamon said grimly and patted him on the back. "Your father would have been proud."

Alistair smiled sadly, thinking about his non-existent family. Just the other day, Goldanna had been seen shrieking about being related to the king in the marketplace, and the guards had to bring her in. They were all surprised when he confirmed her claims, but then he denounced her as his sister, seeing only greed in her soul. _Sierra was right. She was always right._ He sighed again. _Sierra, how I wish you were still alive. _

Things were so much easier when she was leading. He never had to make any decisions, and never appreciated how tough it was. Even with every member expressing different opinions, she had always been just and made the right decisions, compromising and being firm when necessary. _She should be ruling beside me. _How could he ever find someone to replace her? He had set a standard so high, that the next queen would have to be extraordinary to take her place.

He turned his attention back to Eamon, who was now lecturing him on the procedure during the coronation. "…and this is when you walk up and kneel before the revered mother…" _I hate my life._

Anders had persuaded the chambermaid to give him the tray of assorted foodstuffs to bring to Celes' room. But he found himself standing outside the door, feeling jittery about entering. _What if she was naked?_ He found himself thinking. Then hastily, he hit his forehead with his palms. _No, no. Bad Anders! Don't go there._

He knocked on the door softly, and when there was no response, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. As he entered, he thought, _This is so unfair. Her room is so much better than mine. _Anders padded softly on the floor panels and laid the tray on her table. He allowed himself a glimpse of the sleeping beauty in bed.

Celes had the sheets pulled up right above her navel, with her left arm resting on her stomach and her right arm by the side of her head. Her face was turned away from him, and her long black hair was a tangled mess, covering the side of her face and part of her neck.

Anders walked to the edge of the bed to get a closer look. As he did, Celes shifted and he almost fell backwards in surprise. His hand clutched his chest to still his beating heart. _If she woke up just then…_ And surely enough, Celes' eyelids opened halfway and she seemed to be processing the sight before her.

_Have to get out. _A warning sounded in his head, and Anders scampered out the door and shut it behind him as quick as he could before she came to her senses.

It wasn't that Anders was scared of her; it's just that he simply liked it better when she was not angry. Or hitting him. He walked down the hallway and bumped into Eldric.

"Hello, Anders my good man." Eldric held up a hand and smiled. He had the most charming smile, and looked like the prince in every girl's dreams; the one who would come up on a white horse wearing a tight vest and a cape… Anders snorted at the picture in his head, and Eldric gave him a strange look. "Oh, it's nothing. Hello, Eldric." Anders smiled back at him.

"Anders, have you given any thought as to what you will wear to the coronation?" Eldric placed his hands on his hips and looked at Anders.

"Robes?" Anders shrugged.

"Oh no, that will not do. Come with me, I believe I have just the thing for you." _Oh no is right._ Eldric paced down the hallway and beckoned for him to follow. Anders looked after him quizzically, and then decided to go along. _This might be entertaining. _

_I hate my life. _Eldric dressed him up in the most ridiculous looking rainbow-coloured jerkin he had ever seen, and he has seen many strange articles of clothing, like those strange loincloths favored by the Chasind. It extended to his neck in a chokehold and had puffy white sleeves, while its body had the most revolting and strange swirly mixture of blue, green and red. It had strange yellow patterns around the sleeve and collar. _Is he serious?_

When he grimaced and asked, "Are you joking?" Eldric had thrown him out of the room.

Anders stood outside the hallway, laughing to himself when he saw Celes exiting her room at the other end of the long corridor. "Hey!" He called out to her, and she walked over to him, still looking slightly groggy.

"You know, Anders. I had the strangest dream about you." Anders smiled, "_Special_ dreams?"

He got another smack. "Ow!"

"No. Pervert. I was setting the stage to yell at you for sneaking into my room!" _So she saw. Curses._

"Sorry, I was sending some food into your room. Please don't hurt me." He winced and recoiled back slightly, then said, "You really slept in."

"Yes, I know. But it isn't my fault, I slept late, if you recall." Celes folded her arms in indignation. Then he saw a complete change of mood. Celes' face brightened up and she said, "I have a few things I want to do in the city. I just can't sit around here like some spoiled noble. And besides, I really _cannot_ have the maids serving me." She grabbed him by the wrist, "You're coming, aren't you?" She looked at him and Anders realized he missed most of what she said.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to remember…" He pulled his hand away from her to scratch his head. "Alistair had a message for you. He says you should meet with the palace seamstress who will make a dress for you?" Her face brightened up like a child's.

"Really? Well, let's go!" She looked so excited, like he did when he first shot lightning from his fingers. She was humming the tune she played on her flute before the battle, almost skipping on the way to the bower of the castle.

They arrived at the bower of the castle where Celes was talking animatedly to the seamstress, Farine, about the different patterns that would be included in her dress, how many pleats, fussing over the measurements and picking the colour combinations. Anders was sitting by the side, just watching. _Looks like I'm closer to my dream than I thought after all._

After the dress-fitting, Celes noticed a knight going outside the back gates and insisted on following. When she saw the practice grounds, she practically squealed with joy. "I want to join! But first!" she grabbed his upper arm and they were at the market district before he could utter a protest. She went around the city tossing a sovereign in the air, and giving him the occasional look of joy. Her exhilarating mood was contagious and he soon found himself smiling along with her, letting the day take him wherever it did.

They went to Wade's Emporium and Celes bought a new pair of violet vambraces that matched her favorite dagger, then she procured sturdier pauldrons to protect her shoulders from future arrow attacks. And at Anders' insistence, she reluctantly let Wade measure her for a leather waistband that fit under her armor and extended over her stomach. It would be a tough second skin for her, so she would not get hurt so badly next time. He did not want to see her hurt. When she paid Wade for the goods, they left and she headed to the Alienage.

"Why do you want to go to the Alienage?" Anders asked, and she was quiet. "Is it not just the elves who stay there?"

At the gates, she whispered softly, "My father was an elf."

Anders goggled, "I see."

They were greeted by the Alienage hahren, Valendrian. He was suspicious to find a mage and a battle maiden at the gates of the alienage. But when he realized they were Grey Wardens, he relaxed and welcomed them to the Alienage. Celes led the way, walking through the streets towards the venadahl tree and spoke to some of the residents. Anders could tell that it was an overwhelming experience for Celes.

When they left, she had said to him, "The city elves… are different." Then they returned quietly to the palace.

At the dining table, Anders watched Celes closely; she seemed to have lost the spirit she had at the start of the day. He wondered why. She put on a farce, a ploy meant to deceive. Cheerful on the outside, but her eyes were devoid of happiness that eve. _She will talk about it when she is ready_; he surmised that much and poked his fork through the meat on his plate.

"Have you hit the practice grounds yet, Celes?" Hughe was asking, when they left the dining hall. She seemed to perk up slightly, "No, but I am planning to do so tomorrow morning. It would not do if I were to get rusty from lack of practice."

"I'll come to watch." Anders chipped in; somebody had to make sure they did not get bloodied up too badly. Hughe laughed heartily. "You know, mage, there is a weapons master who can show you how to use that staff of yours properly. Knowing how to wield the staff can be as useful as casting spells with it." Hughe slapped him on the back, not knowing his own strength, which took the breath out of Anders and almost lost him his dinner. _Ugh._

"We'll see. It is fun to watch and cheer all the same." Anders jibed and they separated to go to their own rooms. He watched as Celes walked to the end of the hallway and pause at her door. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine." She released the knob. "I think I won't go to bed just yet."

"What are your plans?" Anders closed his own room door and leaned against it, facing her.

Her gaze followed the floor to the entrance of the hallway and said, "I'm going for a walk."

She did not seem like she would want company, and he was not the type to force his presence on others _too often_, but his curiosity got the better of him. "I'll come with you." She did not object, and just started walking toward the courtyard.

They sat on the steps, beside the fountain. The stars were beautiful that night, elusive diamonds that shimmered at unattainable heights. He was admiring the night sky when he heard the familiar whistling of a flute. She played a different melody that night. The tune was heavy, whimsical, and then it was uplifting, like hope in despair. When the tune ended, she got up and walked to the lawn.

"Anders, do you like it at night?" Her question was surprising. He thought about it for the barest of moments, and said, "I think that the night is very pretty. But I don't know what you're getting at." He sat down on the grass and laid his back down on it, facing the night sky; and she sat down beside him.

"Where there is light, there will be darkness. And in the darkness, shadows. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. There was a time in my life when my light was extinguished. And in the darkness came the shadows. The dark of the night is a constant reminder of that."

Celes looked down at him, "The visit to the Alienage… The elvhen there have known fear, sorrow and death all their lives. They are not Dalish, yet they are a strong people. I wish I could be that strong."

Anders looked bemused. _What happened to her in the past that would have brought that on?_ He saw her trembling; he sat up and draped his arm over her back in attempt to soothe her. Celes laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"Let's go back."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Sorry for the non-substantial and late chapter. I was busy packing all day and my 8 hour flight was delayed by 3 hours. I hate AirAsia. Sometimes I feel guilty about pushing the plot back for character development, but all in good time._


	12. First Mission

"Deathroot, deathroot, grind, distill, flask." Celes shut her eyes and repeated. "Deathroot, deathroot… lifestone? Bah!" She slammed the 'The Art of Venoms' shut on the desk, startling a nearby scholar. "Sorry." She whispered, giving him an apologetic look as he shrank away from her.

After her loss that morning to the Captain of the castle guard, she had taken to the poison-making books with a fury. It was a game. Everything was a game, a competition. She did not intend to lose. What she lacked in girth and strength, she would make up in cunning and guile. Hence the books, venoms, and memorizing. _I need to do something._ Her hands twitched.

She scooped up the book and headed out into the halls. She passed the cloak room and exited through the admissions. When she was outside, she took a deep breath of the cool autumn air. The air outside was dry and crisp, perfect. At the very least, it was much better than the dank air in the library studies. She pulled her robe around her, and walked towards the sheltered pavilion near the hedges.

There were two gazebos in the palace gardens. They stood side by side, but the Crimson Gazebo had a stone table and four stone chairs surrounding them, held up by four tall posts; while the Cerulean Gazebo was a space for standing, with walled sides tall enough to lean on and enjoy the view. Celes made her way to the Cerulean gazebo and sat in its space, hidden from view by the waist-high brick wall. The pavilion structure was airy and was a good place for her to practice some poison-making for real.

Celes realized she forgot something important. Making a quick run to the underground vaults, she returned clutching a flask of demonic ichor, several vials of toxin extract, a few stalks of deep mushroom, a few shiny rocks she found in the Arl of Denerim's estate 'by-accident', two small bags of lyrium dust and her poison-making equipment which she laid around her deathroots. Quickly she set up her equipment and got to experimenting.

It was late afternoon when she came across it by accident. The end result was a light gray liquid which turned black when it cooled, and then she ran it through the distillation agent to obtain a fine sandy precipitate. She carefully pocketed the sandy grains, intending to test them once she had the chance. She smiled. _Maybe I do have a flair for this after all._

She arrived back at the palace to find the seamstress screaming from frustration and realized she forgot her appointment with her. It was another two days before the dress was ready and Celes was beside herself, owning her first gown. The following days were a blur of sparring, poisons and mingling. Before she knew it, it was the day of the coronation.

* * *

Alistair scrutinized the suit of gold armor that was set before him on the armor stand. The smiths had worked hard to craft it into the semblance of the armor that Cailan wore in Ostagar. It was strange, being part of the legacy he originally cast aside. He let himself be fitted, however, and then he was walking down the great hall and being blessed by the revered mother. _This isn't so bad,_ he thought. Then the nobles came flocking.

_Remember… This is Bann Alfstanna,_ she's the one who gave him the Golden Arrow and the White Horse, Snowfire. Shake hands, thank, listen, reply courteously. Then came Arl Wulff, Bann Volshaer, Arl Bryland, Bann Sighard, Bann Teagan, Bann Coerlic, and Fergus. It was a never-ending procession of nobles, all the false pretenses to gain favor. Bann Reginalda was the only freeholder who was not present by the looks of the massive crowd in the court room. He did not like it, standing at the front of the room, overlooking everyone else. But he would have to get used to it. He is, after all, the King now. _Officially.

* * *

_

"Leliana!" Celes yelled out to catch the attention of the bard who had just finished telling the story of Haven to some curious Fereldans who crowded around her. She walked towards her.

"Hello, Celes. It is good to see you are well." Leliana smiled at her. "Do you know anything of Ferelden nobility?" she asked. Celes shook her head and replied, "I only know of Arl Howe, who I used to serve. And Teyrn Cousland, Sierra's father." Her voice was flat, giving away nothing.

Leliana turned to her and said, "Well, there isn't much to know. That ghastly woman right there is Bann Alfstanna, she wears horrible shoes." Leliana giggled and Celes just stood staring point-blank at her, as though the woman's shoes were enough to sum up her entire character. "She owns the Waking Sea bannorn. It has an interesting history with the crown. One I would enjoy telling you another day. And the other man over there is Arl Wulff of Westhill. We came across a document possibly written by one of his ancestors, Mathuin Wulff, in Soldier's Peak. The poor man." Leliana sighed, "His sons and wife were killed and his lands destroyed by the darkspawn. If not for Loghain inciting the civil war, there could have been troops sent to his aid, and perhaps…" She trailed off.

Anders appeared behind Celes and she gave a yelp of delight when she saw him. He was dressed in a black sleeveless doublet. It had buttons running down the front and rims of gold along the sides. It resembled a smart looking robe, with sleeves cut off. Celes clamped her lips together, trying not to laugh. It was such a bold outfit. And she had never seen anything like it before. Anders pursed his lips and looked at her, "It's not that bad, is it? I thought it looked all right. Better than anything Eldric tried to shove on me."

Celes shook her head, not trusting herself to speak without bursting into peals of laughter. Which she did, anyway. Leliana just admired his attire and gave him a nod of approval, which pleased him greatly. _Orlesians sure have strange taste._

"What's the topic of discussion?" Anders asked, to which Leliana replied, "Ferelden nobility and freeholders."

"Boring." Anders replied without pause, earning him a glare from Leliana.

"As I was saying," she ignored him. "Bann Volshaer from Oswin has been missing for a decade, but has suddenly made an appearance at the coronation, which was a surprise for everybody. He came with his wife and they brought tapestries as gifts to the new King." She pointed to the hanging tapestries by the walls of the door. They were very intricately designed, with hints of what seemed like gold woven into the design. The heraldry of Ferelden. Celes recognized it from the symbol on Alistair's shield.

Anders shared his insight on the freeholders by saying, "Yes, and the hussy throwing herself at Alistair is Bryland's daughter, Habren. How old apart are they again? Oh yes, nine." Celes smiled at his expression.

"You're such a prude, Anders." Leliana huffed at his comment. "But yes, she _was_ given specific instructions to do so, as I heard." _She must overhear many things._

Celes giggled, "Is this a game all nobles play?"

"And what do we play, exactly?" Celes turned around and found Teyrn Fergus standing behind her.

"Oh, Your Grace." Celes took a step backward in surprise.

Fergus' lips curved upwards into a smile. "Now, what's with all this? You were familiar enough with Sierra, but use this formal tone with her brother? We can't have that."

_So he recognizes me._ "Of course, Fergus."

"That's it." His smile widened and he surveyed the company. Ignoring them, he continued, "I heard that Alistair intends to make you his consul. Tell me, what _does_ a consul do exactly?" His tone was serious, but his eyes showed that he was discontent with her current position. _He probably feels I do not deserve it. I probably don't. _

"His Majesty intends to send me on missions that require special attention, I presume." _Best not to show too much familiarity with the King. _Celes stood straight, not wavering under Fergus' stern gaze.

"Hm. Good." Trumped, Fergus nodded and walked away. Right after he turned his back, Anders and Leliana snuck up behind her and plied her with questions.

"Familiar with Sierra, how?" "He's a cocky bastard, isn't he? How do you know him?"

She sighed and began to phrase the answers in her mind. "Well, as you both probably know already, I used to be a servant at Amaranthine. The Couslands used to visit. Fergus and Sierra would come almost every Spring and Fall. Fergus never really liked me, he probably thought it was not right or proper for the servant girl to have anything to do with his sister. Much less becoming friends with her." She shrugged, but swallowing the bitter taste at the word 'friends'. Surely, there would be no harm in telling them about her relationship with Sierra, but for some reason, she preferred to keep it a secret.

Celes bit her lower lip, unknowingly, while watching the two of them digest the story. It was a likely enough tale, believable. Anders nodded. He was a gullible one. But Leliana had a knowing look in her eyes. She was not so easy to fool, but she kept silent. Suddenly they heard a collective gasp coming from the front of the hall, near the entrance. In wordless agreement, the threesome ran over to see what was happening.

There were so many people that they could not see past them. Then, Alistair came up behind them and the people parted to clear a path for him towards the centre. Anders peered behind him as he walked past and turned back to report what he saw. "Some drunkard fell over. It isn't pretty."

"Ooh! Let me see." Celes scurried through the opening in the crowd and found Alistair blocking her way.

"Ugh. Oghren, no one should have to see this." Alistair was looking down at somebody, half-shielding his eyes. She followed his gaze to find an orange-haired dwarf lying on the ground in nothing but a frilly skirt. It was… definitely not something she wanted to see. She did not want to look, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. It was too fascinating or disturbing or just plain weird that she just had to look. It was when Alistair turned and nudged her that she realized she was blatantly staring, which sent the wrong message across to anyone who found her doing that.

"Oh." She instantly focused her eyes on her feet. "Err… Your Majesty, who…?"

Alistair sighed, anticipating the question. "This is Oghren. He's a… Just someone I know from the road. We used to travel together. And this was what I had to put up with." His hand went up again to the back of his head; he seemed to do that a lot when he seemed frustrated or anxious about something. "Just, where are the servants?" He looked up and saw two nervous maids standing at the side, and his shoulders fell again.

"I can move him, if you'd like." Celes looked at Alistair earnestly. His eyes narrowed and his brows arched, indicating worry, or maybe disbelief. "Are you sure?" He dragged out the last word.

"Yes, I'm sure. Leave it to me and go back to your fancy party." _I used to have to deal with Thomas at Amaranthine, this can't be much worse. _Celes waved her hand in the air and then turned to the mess before her. She looked to Anders pleadingly, and he knew. Groaning, he came over and helped her lift him away. He woke as they were halfway to the guest room outside the hall and turned, causing them to drop him.

"Gah! Nug-bugs!" Oghren said in a scruffy voice. Celes jumped back as she saw him stirring.

"He lives!" Anders proclaimed, raising his hands high, not the least bit guilty about dropping the dwarf. He was probably glad to be rid of the stinky weight. In the quiet hallway, Oghren's groans were amplified. He started snuffling and thrashing his arms around at imaginary foes as they watched. It would have been hilarious if not for the fact that they still had to cart him to his room. Celes and Anders looked at each other for a moment and then nodded in silent agreement.

"Sorry." Celes bent over and gave him a swift knock over the head, and the dwarf passed out. They deposited him in the empty room and exited as quickly as they went in. "That was the most putrid thing I have ever touched." Anders looked at his palms as though imaginary maggots were crawling over them at that very instance and wiped them on his robes. Celes laughed. "You're so prissy, Anders."

He scowled, and said, "I am not! He really was a horrid mess. At any rate, let us go back to the court room. I think people are starting to leave and Alistair looked as though he wanted to get a word in with you for awhile now."

"Did he really? I never noticed. He was so crowded by nobles the whole time; I guess I never got to look closely at him." _Does he usually notice such details? _Celes twirled a lock of her hair as they walked back to the court room.

After the guests left, only a few people remained. Celes' fellow Grey Wardens, Wynne, Leliana, Eamon and, to Celes' surprise, Oghren. Somehow, the dwarf managed to sober up and return to the room, drinking again. _How can he manage all that liquor?_ At least his skirt was gone, and he looked somewhat normal. That was a small comfort. But it was disturbing that he kept looking at her, mumbling stuff about 'nuggets' and doing strange hand gestures like he was outlining the shape of a vase. She just wanted to yell, "Stay away from me!" But stopped, remembering that the dwarf used to be both Alistair _and Sierra's _travelling companion.

Alistair, Wynne and Eamon were gathered in one side discussing something in semi-hushed tones. Meanwhile, Leliana and Oghren were talking about their plans after the coronation. Leliana said she would be departing for Sulcher's Pass the next day, leaving for Orlais. She mentioned a Brother Genetivi who would be leading an expedition to an Ancient Temple in the Frostback Mountains, and about her having some unsettled matters to attend to in Orlais. Oghren was still in a muddled state of mind, but managed to regain some of his senses to blubber about going to Lake Calenhad to see someone named 'Algae'. Eldric was frowning with obvious disdain for the dwarf, saying he was 'absolutely pestiferous', Hughe was just yawning, and Anders was looking at the ceiling for some reason. Celes was just pondering the reasons Anders would be looking at the ceiling for when Alistair walked up to them and cleared his throat loudly. All eyes turned to him.

"Ah, yes. Ehm." He seemed nervous, as his hand went back to its telltale spot behind his head, running through his hair as it did so. "First things first, the Grey Wardens who are coming from Weisshaupt have sent a runner ahead of them and we received word that they will be sending spare men with them to help with the rebuilding of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I do not know for sure what this means, but I think that they wish to train and recruit new wardens into Ferelden's order. The Ferelden order still does not have a Warden-Commander since Duncan died and I think that they will either be sending a suitable replacement or will be training one of _you_–" he looked meaningfully at Hughe, Eldric and Anders, "– to take up that role."

He waited until they all nodded in understanding and went on, "The second matter I need to address is that of the new Kings Consul. Celes, I know this is a lot to ask since you just took on the post. But, I have heard rumors of a dragon breeder to the north of Rivain. And I would like for someone to investigate it. I know these are rumors, but that being the case, our source… Well, trust me when I say that we have cause to investigate this claim." Alistair stopped, then blurted out, "Celes, just come to see me later when you have a moment." After saying that, he moved onto ask about the plans of his former companions and telling Hughe about recruiting missions. _I wonder why he wanted to announce my business in front of everybody._

"So… You'll be going to Rivain without me?" Anders asked.

Celes was not sure what to make of everything. She was excited; this was her first real mission. She was nervous; would she be able to do it well? She was scared; she had never been out of Ferelden before. And she was unsure of what to feel about many other things. About leaving Anders behind, perhaps having the chance to see her mother's homeland in Ayesleigh, and about taking up her duty as the King's Consul and a Grey Warden at the same time. She looked at Anders and said, "I guess."

"Try not to die." He said, looking half worried and half amused. It was almost a joke. He was right though; she seemed to be getting her life saved by him very often. However, she did not necessarily enjoy hearing about it from other people. But she saw sense in his words, "Wouldn't you be broken up by that?" She smiled. "Don't worry, Anders. I'll be back. And then, you can busy yourself healing all my scars."

That probably was not the best way to put his mind at rest as Anders' frown deepened. "Scars?" He grimaced.

Wynne walked up beside them and interrupted, "Anders," they both turned towards her. "How is the life of a Grey Warden treating you both?" Her initial query was probably directed more to Anders, so Celes kept quiet. Anders replied, "Now and again I recall that I'm not sitting in a cell and I have to smile, that's all." Celes smiled too. It was true; he would have been escaping from Templars, fearing for his life, if it had not been for the conscription. She, however, never had the choice. She found herself saying, "It's not so bad. Although I probably won't be doing much 'Warden duty' as things are now."

The elderly mage looked at them both, like a mother getting ready to lecture her children. "It is a great responsibility, becoming a Grey Warden. I have witnessed two of Ferelden's greatest Grey Wardens during their journey to stop the last blight." It seemed as though Wynne found it hard to recount past memories, "Alistair may be king, but he has an overwhelming sense of duty towards the Grey Wardens, as did Sierra. You would do well to look to him for guidance." She shifted her gaze toward Alistair who was speaking to Leliana and trying to speak to Oghren. "Of course, if he is busy, you know where to find me."

Anders snorted, "You'll be giving us advice whether we ask you for it or not, Wynne. Ow!" Celes smacked him on the shoulder again. Stupid man. "Show some respect." Celes didn't even look at him. "She is a sensible one. Anders, maybe she will rub off on you if you stay with her." Wynne shot him a meaningful look, and Anders was rubbing his shoulder softly. He muttered, "Kiss-up."And then ran to hide behind Hughe as Celes' glare followed him.

She shook her head. Alistair came up behind her and said, "If you are not busy, Celes…" he gestured toward the throne room. "Oh, of course." She followed him. "_I'm entering the throne room!" _was all that was running through her mind at that moment. She berated herself for being so childishly overeager, but she could not help it. She lived a life that forbade her the view of such luxuries, unless she was cleaning them. She didn't notice Anders looking after her as the doors closed.

Alistair walked to the far corner of the room, and beckoned for her to follow. It was almost as if he was afraid of being overheard. "Celes, as you may know, some nobles are not happy – to put it lightly – that you have been put forward as the king's consul. It may be a decorative role, but some feel that it was earned without merit. So, I have decided to send you on this mission to prove your worth." Alistair looked into her eyes, like he was trying to convey a sort of deeper message.

"I understand." Celes felt she had to respond in some way. It was easy to conclude, based on Fergus' reaction towards her earlier, that most people would probably feel some sort of discomfort with a woman of unknown origin taking a role in the palace court. But perhaps it was his own prejudice that led to his attitude. He always openly disapproved of her and Sierra's relationship.

He continued, "Good. As I said earlier, there is a rumor going around about a dragon breeder in Rivain. I did not state earlier why I wanted you to validate this rumor. But, the truth is, I wish to obtain the aid of this dragon breeder, if the rumors stand to be true. We have all seen the devastation that dragons and drakes can cause, and by right, this breeder should be punished. However, during our travels, we have fought drakes and obtained valuable materials from them. And this is probably the purpose of breeding such dragons – for material gain." Then he added in a rush, "Unless of course, this person is just a plain loon and wants to set dragons on rampage in Thedas."

The thought was disturbing, somewhat, but Celes said nothing. Alistair took a deep breath and went on, "We could put such materials to good use. But, we must use discretion in order to obtain them. Therefore, I am sending you, Celes, the new Kings Consul, to travel to Rivain to seek out this breeder, if existent, and try to enlist their aid."

"By any means necessary?" Celes prodded, just for fun. After all, what could really happen? It was just dragons. _Just dragons._

"Hah. I wouldn't go that far. But do try to keep the 'King' out of this, would you? It would not sit well with the people if they found out that their king has illegal dealings with dragon breeders. I would not make such a request if I had not seen the value of these materials. However, if it proves too difficult, just try to salvage what you can. And come back in one piece." He smiled. "Sierra would skin my hide like she did the drakes if you do not return."

_Strange, he always struck me as an honorable man. These dragon materials must be worth more than I imagined. _"I'm sure her spirit would haunt you." She said nastily, _why did he have to throw Sierra's name into the mix? _Then added, "Am I to go by myself?" she asked.

"No, I will be sending some men with you. They will need another day or two to prepare themselves, together with the ship that will be sending you there. You have up to four days to get ready. It will be a long trip. Are there any other questions?"

"No, Your Ma… Alistair. Well, maybe one. I was wondering if I could visit Ayesleigh while I'm there." The thought never left her mind since he mentioned Rivain. Ayesleigh would be close by, and she could spare a quick side trip, surely. Her parents' history has always been a point of fascination to her since she was a young child.

"I suppose that would do no harm. But it would be best if the business in Rivain could be finished first. And Celes, just so you know, I have had the servants prepare your quarters for you. You can't be staying in the palace your whole tenure, can you?" Celes brightened up at the change of topic. _Does this mean I get my own house? _"The building prepared for you used to be a royal apartment used by family members of the crown when they visit. It is just west of the royal palace. Nothing fancy, but –"

"Thank you so much for your kindness." She cut him off. It was more than she could have asked for. Her own home. She had a home now.

With the business finished, Celes thanked him once more and returned to her room. Her new house would wait, it was late. Her mind was swimming when she lay down on her bed. _Maybe the future isn't so bleak after all._


	13. Farewell Flowers

She did not even look his way. Anders saw the doors of the throne room shut and Celes disappear behind them. He returned to his room and waited, hoping she would come. His heart lifted as he heard her soft footsteps approaching down the hall, but fell when the sound of her door closing resounded across the walls. _What is it about her that enraptures me so?_

He bent over on his chair and pressed his palm against the left side of his head. He had only known Celes for a month, and yet... _She is so much like my Helena. Helena..._ _I couldn't protect you. I'm so sorry._ If only he had not left.

When Anders went to bed that right, his sleeps were haunted by blood and screams. He awoke for what could have been a dozen times in the night, sweating, shying away from invisible shadows in the room. It was a few months since he last dreamt of her. He knew it was out of his hands, but he could not help it. He regretted it so much. _Celes... Helena, I am so sorry._ He shut his eyes and gave himself over to exhaustion, the whole time clutching his chest, in futile attempt to quell the pain.

It was near mid-day when he awoke. Shaking off the nightmares, Anders went to search for Wynne.

* * *

Celes loved the new house. The house used to be a royal apartment on its own. Since it was converted to the Consul's lodging, the rooms were arranged so that the lower floor had a kitchen, dining room, two guest rooms and a sitting room, while the upper floor had a master bedroom, two empty bedrooms and a study. She left a great many things in her room, taking only two sovereigns and her travelling pack. She was ready. Now all she had to do was say goodbye.

She found Anders talking to Wynne in the drawing room. It was strange that she automatically went to search for him. Celes did not give it any more thought as she walked in quietly, going unnoticed until she stood a few steps away from them. Anders looked tired and Wynne had a strained expression of her face. They both gave a start when they saw Celes approaching.

"Celes. Oh, err... hi." Anders spluttered, clearly displaced by her sudden appearance. She suddenly felt guilty for not announcing herself earlier. Wynne, however, was not perturbed.

"Why, hello, dear child." She smiled brightly at her. _This woman really is something, to be able to change tones so quickly. _Wynne's frown from before had completely vanished. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Hello, Wynne. I just thought I would come to say goodbye before I left." Celes tried to focus on Wynne while replying as not to seem rude, but she could not help sneaking glances at Anders who was fidgeting more than usual. _I wonder what's eating him?_

"You're leaving already?" Anders cut in. Celes turned to him and said, "Well, the King mentioned that it will still be another day or two before the ship is ready, but I thought it would be better to get the goodbye part over and done with. Just in case."

Anders beamed, "Came to see me before you go? How... That's very thoughtful of you." _That was out of character_. As if he heard her thoughts, he added, "But I do suppose, you definitely would not leave before seeing me one more time, would you?" He smiled glibly.

Celes decided not to comment on that. Instead, she turned to Wynne. "Wynne, have you any advice for me?"

Wynne's brow wrinkled slightly, which seemed to happen most during her recollections of past occurrences. It was what she did most frequently. "You will be investigating the rumors regarding a dragon breeder, is that correct? Hm, I do recall a few battles with dragons in the past. Let me see..."

After a short discussion in the room with Wynne recounting battle strategies on the various types of dragons and Anders sprawled sideways on his couch, yawning, Celes thanked Wynne and started to head out of the room. Anders stopped her near the archway.

"Wait, will I see you later?" he asked. There was something in his tone that Celes could not quite pick up on. She turned to face him and bit her lower lip in thought, "Well, I might be doing some other things today..." She saw his 'trodden-on-puppy' look and relented. "Oh, all right. Later in the afternoon?" Anders brightened up and nodded. "See you then." He let go of her arm and she left.

* * *

The Joining and the Coronation. The two events weighed heavily on Alistair's mind. He remembered the last joining he presided over as clearly as it had happened the day before. _Sierra..._ The cold feeling that he felt in his gut when he saw her keel over. Surely they couldn't have all died? And the relief he felt when Duncan examined her and proclaimed her to be alive. It was... harrowing. He never imagined that he would be conducting the next Joining. Sending recruits to their deaths, be it immediate or merely deferred. Duncan's words echoed in his mind, "For the greater good." It was all so easy to accept before.

And the coronation. All of those... people with their false intentions. And what was with... _Wasn't Habren that obnoxious girl that Sierra stole a tiara from at the market? _Alistair was guarding his words while talking to her. He could still hear her yelling at her servants at the marketplace, it was horrible. And that she was trying to cosy up to him made the situation even more uncomfortable. That and perhaps the fact that she is only sixteen and he was, well, old enough to think she's but a child. But that was what he thought of Sierra when he met her, until she took the lead. It was impossible not to think about her. The Wardens coming from Weisshaupt would be arriving in another month and a half, and her body was kept in the catacombs until then. The thought itself was torturous.

It was mid morning, and the court session was short that day. He rubbed the side of his head and sank deeper into his chair, reluctant to leave his quiet sanctuary. But he promised himself that he _would_ see Leliana and oghren off that day no matter what. _Still an hour until noon, I should get going, just in case. _Grimacing slightly, he propelled himself up with the armrests and left the room. His guards were rushing after him when he waved them away. He knew it would be reckless to leave them behind, but he was getting sick of all the attention already.

Alistair quickened his pace, eager to leave the palace, when he ran into Celes in the corner. He almost ran into her if not for her quick reflexes. Alistair clutched the wall to steady himself, while looking at her. It never ceased to amaze him that the woman before him held such a close resemblance to Sierra, though their personalities seemed to differ so greatly. Celes drew a quick breath and exhaled. "Alistair. Good day to you."

Nodding, he felt his face warm at the greeting for some reason. Or maybe because he almost ran into the girl. "Good day. Sorry about –" "Oh, no. I should be the one to apologize. I was not watching my step properly, ser." Celes hastily replied.

Alistair gritted his teeth lightly and looked aside, rubbing the back of his neck as he did. Being apologized to so formally for such menial matters was something he did not know the proper response to. _So polite..._ Clamping his lips together for a second, he then started to respond. "Where were you..?"

He had just begun to ask her a question when Eldric appeared at the door saying, "Your Majesty! I wish to ask your permission to annihilate that _vermin_ and stow his pestiferous cadaver into the pond!"

Alistair backed away slowly at the fuming man. Eldric was red in the face and if he looked closely enough, Alistair could see the light bulge of nerves on his forehead. "Whoa, whoa, Eldric. Calm down, what happened?" _Honestly, he should speak proper language. _Celes peered at him curiously, "Who do you want to kill, Eldric?" She looked like she wanted to get in on the action too, the way her eyes were shining, or maybe she just wants to watch. _I must admit, it would be pretty entertaining. _But as king, he really could not indulge in such pettiness anymore, could he?

Eldric rolled his eyes and held his right palm to the sky, looking like he was ready to strangle the closest thing in sight. "It is that detestable lout, Hughe, who else?" His voice strained with the effort not to shout, and his fists were now clenched at his sides. Alistair raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue, when Hughe came into sight.

"You!" Eldric shouted and pointed an accusing finger at him dramatically. Alistair sighed and shook his head and Celes merely stood watching impassively. Hughe held a hand to his belly and laughed, "Oh come on, little man. You can't be mad about that, can you? You're so stuffy. Sheesh." Alistair sensed a good joke, but thought it wise not to ask. _I really shouldn't… But it's so tempting. No. Yes. Ah, what harm could it do? _

The two were already arguing at the side, and a few servants were gathering to watch at the doors. And Alistair tapped Eldric on the shoulder. "Your Majesty," he stopped immediately and eased his tone slightly.

Alistair tried his best to look imposing, remembering Sierra's expression when she caught his quibbling with Zevran. He imitated her stern tone as best he could, "Now, seriously, you are blood brothers now. Why has it come to death threats?" He silently cursed himself for not being able to muster up more authority.

Hughe started to say something but burst out laughing again, which sent Eldric into a flurry of curses. "Shut up! Both of you." Alistair turned at the sudden voice that came from behind him. Celes stood there smirking slightly, watching Eldric's reaction. He was surprisingly responsive to the girl, immediately quieting down and looking shamefaced. Hughe, too, had stopped his arrogant laughter and stood still, looking intently at Celes. It was a scene he was all too familiar with. How many times had he been put back into line by Sierra after causing a scene? She was in control of every situation, it seemed. This Celes… _Perhaps she is more than she seems. _He regarded her with a new interest.

She noticed him staring and smiled at him and bent slightly to her right, like a small kid. Then she said, "Ser?" and he realized himself. He cleared his throat, and straightened his clothes. "Yes, thank you." _Who first?_ "Eldric. Explain yourself."

"Your majesty," Alistair let the majesty statement pass. It would be good to remain in an authoritative position for now. Perhaps the title of address was not so bad after all. "This, this… man," he grasped for the right word before settling on 'man', clearly disgruntled by the looks of his arms crossed over his chest. "He sent a woman to my room! It was utterly inappropriate!" Eldric was blushing like a beetroot.

Hughe looked like he was about to explode too, trembling from suppressing his laughter. Alistair arched his eyebrows, pursing his lips, he turned to Hughe. "What say you, Hughe?" He knew that if Hughe were to have his say first, Eldric would probably have interrupted. Best to have that out of the way, but he would probably interrupt again anyway if he heard something he did not like. _Damned narcist, _he thought. _At least he seems to know some shame. _

"Heh heh." Hughe shifted his weight to his other foot and started, "One of muh friends at the Pearl wanted to get to know a real Grey Warden, see? And she's really good with special requests. I thought it would be fun, all right? Lighten up! I mean, you can't blame him for having…" he snorted, "Certain fantasies. About… say… Chantry puh..–" Eldric clamped a hand over Hughe's mouth and smiled at Alistair. "Please excuse us, your majesty." Not wasting a moment, he yanked the big man away.

Alistair contemplated calling them back and having them deal with everything out in the open but decided that would be a waste of his time. Besides, they were not children. He heard a soft giggling coming from behind him and turned. Celes was holding a hand over her mouth and letting out the occasional giggle. "What?" She looked at him. "Oh, come on. Priestesses! You really didn't get it, did you?"

Now it was Alistair's turn to blush a deep red. As a former templar-in-training, he had been around young initiates and priestesses for a big part of his life, and had never regarded them as more than what they were. He had refused to grow attached to anyone at the Chantry, stubbornly resisting human contact that did not involve training. But from what he remembered, Chantry sisters were all so cold. It was almost as if they did not like men. Not like men… That was something to think about. He brushed a hand through his hair and laughed nervously. "Of course I did. But that is just so wrong in so many different ways. Oh, I have to go."

"Where to, ser?" Celes asked.

"I was heading to town to see Leliana and Oghren off. They are leaving today. I really have to move, would you walk with me?" Alistair started pacing down the hallway. It would take some time to reach the tavern from the palace.

Celes walked alongside him, keeping pace easily. "I will go with you."

He grunted, "Don't you have better things to do? Pack, maybe?"

"Hm, I don't have much that needs packing. And to be honest, I'm pretty much done already." She smiled, not smug, not triumphant; but a humble smile. It was a pretty sight to behold. "Shall we, then?" She folded her arms behind her and looked eager to go, swinging back and forth.

Alistair returned her smile and said, "Yes. Let us be off then."

The farewells went well enough. Even Oghren was feeling a tad sentimental; at least, until Celes pointed out that he had flowers in his hair. One would wonder where he had come from, appearing in that state.

"Take care, you two." Alistair felt a pang. The last of his companions were leaving, and Wynne was heading to the north soon to prepare for a meeting of sorts. He would be… alone. _I shouldn't be reveling in self-pity. I still have many people. Eamon, for example._

He hugged Leliana and patted Oghren on the back, and they left. When they were but a speck in the distance, he turned his back against them and sighed. Then, he noticed Celes staring at him. He started, jerking back slightly from her gaze.

"Oh, sorry. You just looked so deep in thought, I… Are you alright?" Celes looked worried. Was he that obvious?

Alistair shook his head and said, "Heh. Never thought I'd feel anything watching Oghren leave. I must still be really soft." He huffed, "Well then, I suppose now that's done you will be heading back?" He turned to Celes and bent forward slightly to accommodate the difference in height. Celes must have picked up on that because she wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, replying, "I suppose. Anders is waiting for me." Her tone was tired. _Perhaps the excursion was too soon for her?_ _No. She has to get used to her duties. _Alistair nodded, "Don't let me keep you."

As he watched Celes walk toward the bridge, he turned and headed to the tavern.

* * *

_**A/N:** I am sooooo soooo sorry for the late and crappy chapter I promise to churn out a few more this and next week. I've been distracted by Awakenings. I just got the expansion and another game called Magna Carta 2. Terrible excuse, I know, but there it is :( So, here's a little snippet of the next chapter:_

"There was something in the alleys. Someone. Hiding. But who would be out in the rain?"

_Just something for ya, so who is the 'who'? :D_


	14. Maelstroms of Fate

"It runs on steam?" Celes peered curiously at the ship before her. If there was a time to be sceptic, this would be it. The dwarf before her tried to explain the concept of his 'steam-ship' over and over again but she just failed to understand what he was trying to convey. Comprehension eluded her, and she turned her attention away from Egar and looked longingly at the safe and trusted wooden hulled ships off the other side of the port.

"I assure you, my lady. This ship has been tested time and again and is ready for its maiden voyage." Disappointment was clear in the dwarf's tone.

Egar was obviously very proud of his creation, and refused to acknowledge that it may have any sort of flaw. Celes sighed and resigned herself to her captain. It was strange that a dwarf who first came from stone would want anything to do with the seas and the sky, very strange indeed. Perhaps she would be able to pry his history from him during the trip.

"I know, I know. But you can't blame me for being nervous, can you now?" She tried a weak smile on him which wasn't returned. Then she looked back at the city of Denerim. She would not be back for at least five months, if it were true that the ship could move as fast as Egar claimed, perhaps she would be back sooner. Alistair had mentioned a festival would be held the next year to commemorate the ending of the blight, and she intended to try her best to be back by then.

Celes shivered at the breeze that blew from the coast as she walked up the plank leading into the cabins.

_Steamships are not as fast as Egar led me to believe. _It was two months into the trip, and they were almost approaching their checkpoint at Antiva. Egar said they would be stopping by there to restock and they were probably about a day or two away judging from the... course map or whatnot. Celes decided to stop trying to understand Egar and his 'ship-talk' after the third day aboard his ship.

A few interesting people were on board, including some of the knights who were originally assigned to guard the Arl of Denerim's estate, and now assigned to the King's Consul. She heard Arl Howe was staying there during his time in Denerim and actually took over as the Arl of Denerim. _I never heard of that before. _She was talking to one of the former guards. She found that most of the guards who were loyal to him died during the fight in the Landsmeet, where Sierra and Arl Eamon fought against Loghain's men in the power struggle over the new King. The man she was talking to, Bimm, was one of the less willing of the men recruited from the bannorns to serve in Denerim under Arl Howe. He was happy enough under King Alistair's rule, however. It seems there were some people in Ferelden who weren't quite so blind to the cruelty and injustice Arl Howe committed after all.

She was just laughing with him over the 'Oghren in a skirt' incident at the coronation when she felt the ship shake. "What was that?" Celes stood immediately, and Bimm followed. "I don't know. Let's check the deck." They exited the drawing room after the ship seemed to calm, a little.

It was raining outside. Once on deck, Celes raised a hand to shield herself from the battering of the rain, and a deckhand ran up to her offering a cloak. She thanked him and draped it around herself. Over the sides, she could see what was causing the boat to shake so violently. Giant waves were crashing against the side of the ship, threatening to spill onto the deck. It was nature's wrath in full force. And in the skies... "Oh no, thunderclouds." Celes uttered aloud and her body froze over as she saw the huge dark clouds that were in the ship's course.

Celes ran past the gunport to the forecastle deck where Egar was shouting orders. Upon seeing her, Egar approached her and said, "This was not on the course before! The men are trying to steer around it but... I fear the worst, milady." Celes' heart sank as she saw where he was pointing at.

"A maelstrom." She gasped.

"Aye," Egar confirmed her fears and left, his head hanging.

Celes stood by the bow as she saw the gaping vortex that swirled inward in the deep ocean depths. Fear clutched her insides and she felt nauseous. Her senses dulled and she could only hear faded murmurs of the crew as they ran past and around her.

The mast crashed down. Then the crow's nest. The bowsprit snapped. Something hit her on the head, hard. And she heard the splashes as she fell into the darkness.

* * *

If it weren't for Hughe, Anders feared he would have gone insane with boredom in the last month and a half. The Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt had finally arrived with a couple of Orlesian Wardens. It was strange that the Fereldens still held much disdain for the wardens even though they were just saved from horrible deaths at the hands... talons of the archdemon two months ago by a warden. Not Orlesian, given, but still, a warden. _Perhaps the people regarded them as Orlesians first before all else, just as I am a mage before I am a warden to them. _Anders knew, all too well, the different ways one could be discriminated against. A pity, really. Perhaps he would shoot lightning at them when they were not looking. That would make for great fun. Hughe could come and watch. He might even cheer.

He thumbed the chain around his neck and stood as the newly appointed Warden-Commander addressed him. "Anders, is it?" he asked.

"Yes, that is me." Anders straightened his back and bent slightly to see the commander properly. He was a handsome man, frightfully so. But he seemed... off.

The man clapped him on the shoulder, "Well met, mage." Anders stiffened. _Why couldn't these idiots address me by name? I have a name. _It wasn't that he was ashamed of being a mage, you are what you are. But still...

"My name is Gayle. And I will be the new Commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens." He was addressing Hughe and Eldric together now. "As you all may be aware, this post would have been Alistair's if he had not become King, and he has done a great job thus far. I was even surprised that he managed to get a few recruits before I arrived, though I can't imagine you would have seen a lot of action after that one last battle." He quirked his lips and continued, "But yes, that aside, I have been appointed by the First Warden to be the commander of this Ferelden."

Following that, Hughe and Eldric introduced themselves to Gayle and went to mingle with some of the other wardens who came from Weisshaupt. About a dozen of them came from Weisshaupt Fortress and three accompanied Gayle from Orlais. Apparently, the mighty 'Wardens of Weisshaupt' needed a dozen men to come collect a body. At least the Orlesian wardens would be staying, despite what Alistair had said about the Weisshaupt wardens bringing spare men. Anders saw Gayle approaching him.

"Mage," he said.

"It's Anders." He took an immediate dislike to the man.

"Yes, Anders. Do you know why you are still in Denerim?" Gayle seemed to drop the question on him. He wondered if this would be the case in times to come. "Ah, because the flowers are pretty here?" Anders offered.

"Hm. You _do _know that the king has granted the Grey Wardens the arling of Amaranthine, do you not?" _Ah, he did at that. _Now that Gayle mentioned it, he remembered. At that funeral, he recalled catching a few phrases here and there and knowing enough to piece together that the king had given Amaranthine to the Wardens. "Strange that you have yet to move there. Perhaps the king prefers to keep his wardens close? But that will change soon enough." Gayle looked as though he just smiled. But it vanished so quickly, Anders could not be certain.

There was a quick talk with the King that eve, and they received their orders. They would depart for Amaranthine first thing the next morning. It was just as well. The palace was dull without Celes around, and Wynne had left a week ago. He really could not leave soon enough. _And besides, it would be interesting to poke around the place Celes grew up in. _

Anders found himself standing in front of the room that she used to sleep in. He placed a hand on the doorframe, smiling at the fond memories that came to him.

_I wonder how she fares now..?

* * *

_

Numbness. Pain. Confusion.

Survival instincts kicked in as Celes opened her eyes. _A shore. _She coughed up some water which left a bitter taste in her mouth. _Seawater. Am I safe? _She found herself alone.

When she tried to stand, her head spun. Little grey spots flashed before her eyes. She collapsed again, and remained unconscious for Maker knows how long. By the time she came to, the moon was hanging high in the sky, illuminating the sea. _I never did like water._ She spat the bile from her mouth and looked around. _I wonder where I am._ _Ah well, at least it is not raining now._

Her body ached, but lucky for her, she did not sustain any major injuries, except the one scar on her forehead and a lump near the back of her head where something had hit her prior to her loss of consciousness. _The ship._ She looked back at the open sea and saw nothing. The ocean was calm, and there was no sign of tide or disturbances, only the lone gulls that swooped over the water.

She knelt, and offered a silent prayer to the Maker. _May their souls find rest at Your side._

Celes finished and got up. She felt around herself for her belongings. Luckily, her light armor did not drown her in the water, and her daggers were still strapped around her sides. Unfortunately though, her throwing knives had slipped out of their compartments and her bow and quiver were lost. Panicking, she felt for her coins. _Blast. _

She was stranded on an unknown shore with naught but her weapons, and it was late. But she had survived a shipwreck and perhaps she still had some luck in her. _No use standing here._ She started towards the inlands.

The houses she passed were tattered and falling apart, with no sign of life within them, or so she thought. When she tried entering one of them, she was confronted with a locked door. _Oh, there are people inside!_ _But perhaps disturbing the residents at night is not such a good idea. Ah, but I'll have to sleep outside if I don't. _Celes' mental struggle lasted for a few moments and she finally knocked on the door lightly. She thought she might have heard some shuffling, but no one answered.

"Hello? Is anybody home?" she called out. And that's when she heard the locks click. The door opened just a crack and a small elvhen girl peeked out. She could not have been more than twelve, and her eyes widened when she saw Celes. The girl started pointing at her daggers and saying something in a language that Celes did not understand.

"Hello there. I apologize for bothering you so late at night..." Celes was cut off by a man who she assumed was the girl's father who gave Celes a frightful look and pulled his daughter away from the door, slamming it shut behind him. Celes spluttered, "But... I don't understand." Her hands hung by her side, and her body sagged. Would she have to stay out that night? So be it then.

Celes walked around until she finally found a single shack that was unoccupied. Its door was smashed apart and lay on the ground beside it, and the roof had holes in it, but it was better than sleeping outside for the night. As she hugged herself to keep warm, Celes decided she would venture further into the lands the next day. Hopefully, she would find civilization. Well, proper civilization.

When the sun rose the next morning, Celes was already awake. She had woken a few times that night, her sleep disturbed. There were no dreams, but she just could not rest. Something else was causing her unrest. She was sensing things, or perhaps it was her imagination. _Hm, I don't like this._

With her long range weapons gone, she only had her daggers to defend herself, and she had to remedy that. And what's worse was that she was ravenous enough to eat a cow. _Maybe a solution lies further inland._ She walked.

The small area she passed seemed to be where the elves lived, she deduced. _Strange._ Some seemed to live fairly comfortable lives while some others sank so deep into the depths of depravity that they did not even have proper clothes. Even the elvhen had their own difference in status and standards of living. _Curious, indeed. _However, they were still a suspicious bunch towards humans in general, including Celes, and would not entertain her when she tried to ask them questions. She suspected that some of them did indeed speak her language, but were taunting her by replying in their foreign tongue. It was incredibly frustrating.

She seemed to have made it to the edge of the town when a woman commented aloud about her weapons to her companion. When Celes tried to approach them, seeing as they were human, she was shouted at. "Stay away from me, barbarian!" the woman had screamed, as if Celes meant harm to her. It was a new experience, to invoke fear in others. It felt really good, actually. Empowering. However, if she was to get help and avoid trouble along the way, she needed to blend in.

Celes sneaked into a nearby house and 'procured' a simple white dress and a pack for her armor and daggers. When she exited the house, her hopes raised. She seemed to be in the middle of a bustling district. There were vendors on each ends of the streets in front of her and a giant fountain in the middle of the square. She must have ended up in the slums before. Strange, considering most humans enjoyed building their houses near the coast. _Humans. Maker, the way I think..._

The people passed her by but some sneaked looks of interest at her. She must have been a sight, a dishevelled young woman trudging through the streets, looking completely foreign. Most of the people in the village were tanned, almost comparable to Isabela, but not quite as dark-skinned; while she was fair and paled in comparison. And she was alone. Looking around, Celes saw that there were humans with elvhen servants and elves with human servants. It was a strange land indeed.

Suddenly, the vendors were packing up. Celes looked around her and saw the men and women retreating back into their houses. _What's going on?_ One man pointed to the sky and within seconds she saw a flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder. She groaned, "Not again."

Celes raised her arms and let them drop to her sides in exasperation as the rain began to pour on her, drenching her to the bone. "Ugh. I hate this province. Stupid rain." Celes much preferred snow. _Oh, now I'm talking to myself. Fantastic. I'm going mad._

Celes walked around the fountain and sat on its side, feeling the rain battering on her back as she pondered her next step. The streets that were so full of life moments before were now desolate, with not a soul in sight. But her skin prickled. She was being watched.

There was something in the alleyways. Someone. Hiding. _Who would be out in the rain?_ Whoever it was certainly did not want to be seen, because as she glanced nonchalantly in the direction, she only saw the raindrops hitting an invisible barrier that looked like the outline of a person. _Hm, someone else who plays my game. Too bad for them, _she was the best.

She stood, and turned to her left, walking behind the fountain. As she did, she disappeared into the shadow realm and slowly approached her invisible stalker. She contemplated what she would do. _A little knocking about won't hurt. Nobody else is around, after all. _

Celes knew that she would not be seen, as her skill was superior, and unique in ways she never told anyone else about. Walking up to the person, who seemed to be turning left and right in search of their target, Celes appeared and in a second brought her foot up to meet the person's head.

It was a man. An elf. He fell to the floor with a thud.

"Ahh." He groaned, and Celes pressed her foot on his neck to prevent him from getting up.

"Who are you? Why were you watching me?" she demanded. And was surprised when he smirked and took hold of her leg and pulled her under. She felt the wind escape her lungs as she fell against the wet cobblestone floor.

He spoke with the same accent Celes had heard from the townspeople. "Tsk, tsk. So aggressive, fierce little kitten." The elf wagged a finger at her and _tsk_-ed at her while shaking his head in slow motion. Their positions were now reversed, and he held her hands down, preventing her from retaliating.

Celes fumed. "What do you want from me?" she growled, turning her head to deflect the man's long blond hair that fell forward, dripping water on her cheeks. Her head was spinning.

"Mmm. A most dangerous question." Celes felt his knee snaking up her thigh and realized her legs were still free. Disregarding his response, Celes brought her knee up hard and fast, hitting him where it hurt most and ran, not looking back.

_Who was that..?_

Celes slowed her pace as she began to see grey flecks spot her vision. _What..?_ She held her head. Everything was dimming. _Why?_ Her vision failed her, and while her eyes were open, she only saw grey. She turned her head in all directions, shook her head, all in trying to regain her sight. She clutched her forehead. It was burning.

_What's happening to me..?

* * *

_

_**A/N: **__There! I promised :3 another chapter~ Love you all! Thanks for all your support~ It keeps me going. Err... Rating may be changed to M in the coming chapter or two, for real this time. _


	15. Jobbing

When Zevran thought Sierra's death did not impact him greatly, he was wrong.

He thought that first when he held her for the last time in his arms, and when he returned to see her body in the tent when she was brought back.

He thought this again when he was on the Siren's Call, returning to Antiva. He felt no longing to stay in Ferelden.

But all his affirmations were thrown into disarray when Isabela tried to 'divert' his attention. And when he taunted the Crows in Antiva and had the guild master sending bumptious young upstarts and veteran assassins after him. He killed every one of them, of course, that was a given, but still, it was as though he did not care for safety any longer. He drifted between the different lockboxes of emotions in his heart after leaving Denerim, constantly finding distractions, so his thoughts did not lnger. The last thing he needed was for Sierra's ghost to come haunting him in a white dress in the rain.

It was not until he saw her up close that he realized that, although the woman did indeed resemble Sierra to a great degree, she was not her. Nor was she identical for that matter. The most noticeable difference would be her height; she could almost be the same height as him, if not slightly shorter. Despite her height, she was definitely human. And she had dazzling emerald green eyes, while Sierra's eyes were the colour of the sky. She had Sierra's dark hair, but hers was a tangled mess, and dripping wet at the time he looked up at her. She seemed familiar.

Ah, but the woman was a feisty one. _If only she would not press so hard with her foot, I could properly enjoy the view from down here._ He had just remembered where he saw her last when she took a hit at his pride, literally.

"Brasca!" Zevran cursed, as the woman escaped and he bent forward on the ground, waiting for the pain to subside before giving chase. He did not have to go far before he found her lying on the ground, unconscious. "Hm," Zevran circled her before picking her up and walking back to the Femme Fatale.

The old whore of a proprietor took one look at the girl in his arms and nodded to him. "Not too loud, you hear? I've been receiving complaints from the customers." He simply laughed, "No, no. Not this time. Besides, are your customers not taken to screams?"

"True, that." Galena looked at the well-built girls lounging about the room and turned back to Zevran. "Screams should be fine."

Unsure of what to do with her, Zevran placed the girl on the couch in his bedroom. Her forehead was burning like a furnace, and her lips were pale. It seemed like she fainted from exhaustion, and there was a good chance she was ill. Zevran sighed, _why do I always seem to invite trouble? _Even so, he could not help but feel a little responsible for her situation. After all, it was he who scared her, he who caused her panic.

"Who was that, Zev?" Torrien asked him when he stepped down the stairs.

Zevran answered, "Nobody you should be jealous about, Rin." He gently caressed the boy's face and looked away, heading to the back to get a towel and basin. When he returned to the room, the girl was gone. Zevran took one look at the billowing curtains. "Alas," he said before placing the basin down and reaching for his glass. _Run if you wish, little bird.

* * *

_

Another foreign place. _How many times have I awakened this way already? _Celes pushed her body upward and leaned on the couch edge. _Where am I?_ The bedroom was warm and compact. There was not much decoration, save for the carpet and the odd little ornament on a display shelf to the side. It was very minimalist, and had the feel of a traveller's room, one who did not intend to stay for long. The place was foreign, but the smell was familiar. Cheap perfume and wine. It smelled like The Pearl. _Whatever the case, I need to leave this place._

Celes found her pack lying beside her on the ground. Picking it up, she looked at the door then surveyed the room for an alternate exit. The window was big enough for her to fit through and the clasp was not locked. Perfect.

She clambered clumsily out the window and peered downwards. It was not a long jump. It appeared that she was now in the central district of whatever town she was in. Scurrying through the streets, she picked up on her location by some of the store signs. _Antiva, is it?_ _Surely there must be a Chantry around here somewhere_.

"Welcome to the Chantry of our Lady Redeemer. Blessed are those who walk in the sight of the Maker. I am the Revered Mother Ilse. What may I do for you, my child?" Celes pushed the big wooden doors aside and was greeted by an elderly woman dressed in chantry robes which was a notch shinier than any of the other initiates. _She must be the revered mother._

"Maker bless you as well, ma'am." Celes replied. "I... I seek shelter," she explained her situation to the revered mother.

"Say no more. All of the Maker's children are welcome here." Celes was ushered to the back of the Chantry where she was taken care of by one of the initiates. A bath and a change of clothes later, she felt more comfortable. She was given some food and left to rest. One of the Chantry sisters was curious about her weapons and when told that she was able in combat, she suggested that Celes should take some jobs from the Chantry board outside, and maybe she would be able to earn enough to afford a ship back to Denerim. It sounded like a good idea, but she would sleep on that for now. It was a matter for another day. For now, she would sleep.

The next morning, when she was leaning over the banister overlooking the congregation area, she saw the elf from the day before enter. _Not him again, _she thought and ducked out of sight. She would wait for him to leave, and then slip out the front door. _I wonder if the Chantry has another exit_. But even she knew that the Chantry only had one means of entry and exit, as do all others. Surely the architecture of the buildings stayed the same throughout Thedas.

For the day, she managed to complete two jobs. One consisted of delivering some bottles to the local tavern and another was taking care of some pirates scavenging the coastline near the elvhen residence. She was rewarded with a sovereign for her work, which allowed her to make a generous donation back to the Chantry for looking after her. She was welcome there and intended to stay a few more nights before heading back to Denerim. Or maybe, if she was lucky, find out more about this dragon breeder.

Her questions brought no answers. Nor did it help her maintain her non-suspicious outlook. A few of the Chantry sisters were eyeing her warily, muttering things about dragon cults. She regretted ever bringing it up. As Celes passed the statue of Andraste in the front of the temple, she overheard the chatter of a few Chantry sisters.

"... heard that the true daughter of Andraste is here."

"But if it is true..."

"Blasphemy! The Chantry will not stand for this. For many ages, multitudes of people have claimed..."

The chatter lowered in volume, and Celes realized she must have been discovered. _Damn._ She stepped out from behind the statue.

"Sorry, sisters. I couldn't help overhearing..." The sisters were giving her looks of disapproval, and two of them were crossing their arms and Celes caught a few frowns. Lecture time. "Well, I suppose I'll just leave... now."

Celes hurried up the stairs, skipping a few flights in the process. _The true daughter of Andraste?_ Perhaps that would be worth looking into instead of bringing nothing back to Denerim.

The next day, Celes saw that elf come into the Chantry again, waited for him to leave, and then left after him. Taking a few jobs on the Chantry board, Celes managed to buy a few small dagger cum throwing knives from the local weaponry – after getting odd looks from the swordsmith – and a length of fishing wire. _This will make up for my loss of long range weapons._

Things were looking up. Before long, she might even be able to afford to board a ship to Rivain, and perhaps continue on with her duties. The knights who were to accompany her were missing and most likely dead, but she could still hire mercenaries... And there were chances that the rumours could turn out to be false. She wondered if the King would care if she came back or not. Deciding he would probably send a search party out after two years, she cleaned her new knives and went to sleep.

"No jobs?" Celes asked.

The Chantry sister standing by the board answered, "There was one... But it was taken moments ago. The reward was ten sovereigns too. You just missed it."

Celes cursed, which gained her a shocking gasp from the sister. She gave her an apologetic look and said, "Who took it? What was the job about?"

The sister looked reluctant to say. "Well, alright. If you're not going to tell me..." Celes shrugged and turned.

"Wait! I can tell you what the job is about. But I'd rather not have too much to do with the man who took the job." Celes looked at the sister expectantly. Certainly it would do no harm to divulge the identity of the jobber? "The man who posted the job was Ioren. The only thing that was said in the note was, _I need protection. Meet me at the 'Kestrel and the Fox'. Ask for Ioren._ That is all I can help you with, Celes. And only because you have been such a great help to us."

Celes thanked the sister and started toward the tavern. Just as she was passing the tannery, she ducked into the alley. After counting to thirty, she looked out. Poking her head out of the alley, she glanced back to the path she took from the Chantry. _I could have sworn someone was following me. _Celes felt a breath going down the nape of her neck and drew her dagger and flung it behind her, hitting the brick wall with the sharp screech of stone.

"You again?" She had pinned her arm across the elf's neck, and did not intend to release her hold. "Who are you?"

"I am Zevran. Zev to my friends, and that includes Sierra, and any friends of hers too." He smiled lasciviously at her. "I remember you from the battle with the archdemon. Ha, if all else fails, go for the eyes. Ingénues."

He certainly wasted no time vindicating himself. "Hm," Celes withdrew her blade. He could only have known that if he were present at the fight, and she _did_ seem to recall seeing him somewhere before, although her memory from that time was a bit fuzzy. _I hardly imagine I will be calling him Zev anytime soon. _"Fair enough, why are you following me?"

"I suppose it is too much for me to expect introductions under these circumstances... Very well. You wanted this, yes?" He pulled out a slip of paper signed '_Ioren'_ which had the seal of the Chantry on it.

"Yes, and my name is Celes. Seems like you took the job first, I shall not fight you for it then. Have fun with it." Celes nodded to him and began to walk away, when he tapped her on the back.

"You can have it," he held out the sheet of paper. "But I just thought you should be forewarned that the man is being hunted."

"Hunted? By whom?" Celes accepted the sheet cautiously.

Zevran relinquished the job form, and narrowed his eyes. "Crows," he answered in a matter-of-fact manner. Noting Celes' look of confusion, he sighed and said, "Ah, Fereldens. The Antivan Crows are an order of assassins infamous throughout Thedas, surely you might have heard of them? No? That is too bad." He rested his arms on his hips and examined Celes analytically, she wasn't sure she liked it. "We... _They_ are renowned for always getting their mark. Or, at least until, well, that is a story for another time. But, for now, are you certain that you wish to protect this man, knowing that he is hunted by the Crows?"

Celes frowned. _Can this man truly be trusted? He was a friend of Sierra's. She always had a queer taste in friends._ "I am going. Thank you for the advice. Goodbye, Zevran."

"Hey, wait, wait. Why so hasty?" Zevran put a hand on her shoulder which he removed once he got her 'death stare', "Here is my proposal, I will accompany you until this job is done. To ensure you do not perish."

"Why do you want to help me?" Celes had every right to be suspicious. Why would an elf want to help a human? Why did this man want to help_ me_, a woman he just met, based on a common affiliation which he knew no longer existed? And the man himself was an odd one, for he seemed to be one of those elves that Celes noted lived better lives than their poverty-ridden counterparts in the outskirts of the city.

He merely answered, "I have a certain bone to pick with the Crows myself, as you dog-loving Fereldens might say." He shifted slightly, then added, "But, who is to say we will not both perish? Stabbed in the back by wily assassins or tripping on a rock and falling face first onto our daggers, though that would be ironic. _And, _I simply cannot stand by and watch as a beautiful sex goddess faces mortal peril."

_Odd, indeed. _"Fine, just... never mind. Let's go."

Ioren was a middle-aged man, with slightly greying hair, but he insisted he was in his prime. He seemed weak, but Celes suspected more. He certainly was no weakling, judging by his gait, but why would he put on a mask of frailty?

"You say you are a revered father?" There were such things in the Tevinter Imperium?

"Yes, or at least, I used to be until..."

"I hate to interrupt this stirring confession but I am afraid we are no longer alone..." Zevran drew his daggers and flung one at the slit in the wooden door, pulling it away bloody just as the door flew open.

_Damn, these 'Crows' are tough to kill._ Celes lashed out time and again at the attackers as Ioren cowered behind her back. She threw a small knife across the room and yelled at Zevran to stay back, as the Crow who ran through the knife's path had his head separated from his body. Celes dashed across the room to retrieve her knife, and coiled the wire back, careful to touch only the clean parts. "What..?"

"My special blend." She winked at Zevran and noticed Ioren being knocked unconscious by one of the men and ran in to intercept him. Before she realized what had happened, she was flung out of the window and felt the crunch of bones as she landed on the pavement below.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I wonder, where do you guys see this story going? I have like this branch of choices that sort of reflect DA:O's choice based course of the game... Here's one of the choices that will be coming up: Kill the man/ conscript him (or not)/ enrol his services? I haven't decided, but I will eventually. How many people read my blog to see my thoughts behind each story? _

_Next chapter, rating will be changed to M due to... you'll find out._


	16. Escort Manse

_**A/N: **__Implied torture in this Chapter. Merely implied, but I will draw double lines at its start and end for the reader's benefit._ _Rating changed to M_. _Also, this chapter was horribly difficult to write, Zevran's a tough nut to crack XD I'd appreciate any feedback, positive or negative._

"So, what is with the faux pirate look? Is that the current fashion in the Tevinter Chantries?"

"Is this really the time? We are meant to be looking for the young miss." Ioren turned away, avoiding Zevran's eye with his eye. Ioren thought he had convinced Zevran to help him look for Celes, but he would have gone either way. A dangerous diversion is still a diversion.

Zevran shook his head and said, "But why the eye patch? Surely you could have thought of other ways to attract the ladies?"

Ioren waved a hand at him, "I do not wish to discuss it." He then gestured ahead, "Are you sure they are in there?"

"Oh, yes." Zevran made a sweeping gesture at the building ahead of them, "In all aspects, the Escort's Manse may look like a proper institute where the bored, the rich and the desperate patronize, but... The Crows hold the contract of the building and they keep secret rooms underground for their dealings. One simply needs to know their way in. By the way, on a completely unrelated side note, whose power were you threatening?" Zevran continued forward as Ioren stopped in his steps.

"Nobody's."

"Hm. Alright, then. After you, my good man." Zevran bowed and held a hand out to the entrance, all the while keeping his eye on Ioren.

"Entering such places goes against my better judgment but if this is really where the young miss is being held..." He walked in and Zevran followed after him.

"Good afternoon, ser. Will you be having separate tables or will you be _dining_ together?" The two of them were greeted by an immaculate young man with neatly swept back hair, in a loose fitting dark blue shirt with a collar that opened up to the middle of his chest, and hung to reveal more. _Nice choice of clothing, better than eyepatches._

Ioren began stuttering and Zevran stepped forward and said, "We will just skip ahead to dessert, thank you."

A look of understanding exchanged between Zevran and the host, and he said, "A good choice, ser. Please, follow me." The host led Zevran and Ioren to a small alcove behind the hubbub in the main hall. Zevran whispered to Ioren, "Stop looking so suspicious."

"But I'm not- "

"Shh! You are twitching like a rabbit amongst a pack of foxes. Everything is under control, just follow my lead." His firm tone seemed to still the Priest with Secrets, allowing Zevran some peace of mind. When they were left in the plush seats of the alcove that was screened by silken drapes, Zevran spoke.

In a low but urgent tone, he said, "All right. Remember what I told you, when the man comes in, I will drug him and then we sneak into the next recess to get to the basement. And fight like a man, I know you can." Ioren was about to protest when someone cast a shadow over the drapes of the alcove. The look on Ioren's face when he saw who stepped into their space was absolutely priceless. Zevran would have given a thousand andris to see it again, at the very least.

The man who stepped through the drapes was very muscular and wearing a very tight leather suit that practically moulded around his body, and was holding a pair of bronze fur-lined manacles. _Too bad I have to drug you, _Zevran thought as he held a cloth dipped in a mixture made to incapacitate to the man's mouth. He lowered him onto the table as he started to lose consciousness.

"Hurry." He said after checking, and they swiftly ducked into the next alcove. "Now... Where was that catch? Ah." There was a small click as Zevran pushed on a hidden tile near the base of the seats, and a soft, almost silent rumble of stone as a section of the seat moved aside to reveal steps that led underground.

"Fascinating," Ioren noted, approval in his eyes. _Perhaps the Tevinter people's magicks made up for their lack of creativity. _

"Yes, and all that. Let's go." Zevran pressed his ear against the first door and decided that it would not do for any Crows to get in their way when they were coming back, and thus he and Ioren fought all they came across on their search for the fair damsel. Ioren, he observed, was the perfect rose's thorn. He seemed easy prey, with the peasant clothes and the eyepatch and the defenceless old man act. Zevran had scoffed at him when he saw the man pick up his little studded knuckles, now he was not so sure anymore, looking at him go. Ioren was not particularly quick and graceful, but he fought as though he had no impairment to balance, considering the situation with his right eye. And his style was effective and knocked his opponents down using brute physical force and strength. Of course, the brass knuckles around his hand helped too. And the odd dirty underhanded trick.

"I wish they did not bleed on my boots so much, I just bought these..." Zevran was saying as he opened the door at the end of the corridor and saw something that stilled his tongue.

"Celes...?"

* * *

The young woman he saw earlier that day, looking fresh and clean and endearingly naive was now on top of a man. A dead man, mutilated beyond recognition. And she, herself was in not much of a better condition. Her slouched back was facing them, so that was the first thing he saw. The back of her white dress was slit open, likely with whips, and was bloodied on the surface. Zevran thought he caught glimpses of a familiar inking that disturbed him a bit more than the room's condition, but he dismissed the thought. He glanced furtively at her wrists where there seemed to be rope burns. In her hands she held a dagger, a Crow's dagger, which she was still repeatedly driving into the man's chest; though the man looked as though he did not have much of a chest left. Celes' front was so bloodied and her long black hair hung at the sides of her face, obscuring her expression, he could not clearly determine if she bore any other injuries. And it was probably not all her own blood. _What a sight._

Ioren rushed quickly to her side, careful not to touch any of her wounds, and tried to coax her into talking to him. And to stop stabbing the dead man. Zevran just stood by the door, looking around the room. There were little bottles on a tray beside an upright table that had shackles attached to it's for ends, and in the other corner of the room stood two upright metal pillars with ropes tied around its length. _Must be where the rope burns came from._ In the room there were two other dead bodies, one of a woman and another of a man. He approached the two, and retrieved the daggers from the woman's body. But he did not touch the wire around the other man's neck, as it was still bubbling away and hissing something nasty. When he looked back, Celes had calmed and Ioren was propping her up against his shoulder.

* * *

* * *

"I wonder if she would have escaped without us." Zevran commented lightly, and Ioren stared daggers at him.

"Let's just leave. Lead the way, I will carry her." Celes' eyes were glazed over, and she did not utter a sound the whole way back to the alcove entrance. Zevran led them to the back door where they made a quick exit, and to Estelle's Inn.

"Estelle, my sweet- " Zevran started toward the old maid among the tables and sea of men.

"Zevran!" Estelle brandished a meat cleaver in front of his face and he stepped back holding his arms up, "Whoa."

"I swear, if you are leading any more of those blasted Crows on your trail just like the last time..."

_Wow, she is sexy when she's fierce like this._ "Now, now, my sweet. People are staring." He raised an eyebrow toward the lots of drunken men looking their way, in particularly at the cleaver, with interest. "I assure you, I am not being followed. But I need a room for my own purposes." Estelle eyed him suspiciously, but she gave in. He knew she would. She gave him leave to use the side entrance and he left to get Ioren.

Celes' face was a lesser shade of pale and pasty under the care of Ioren. They had carried her carefully through the side entrance and up the stairs to her room. _It would be best for her to stay here for now. _It would be unwise to return to the Kestrel and the Fox at the moment.

Throughout the whole time Ioren cleansed her wounds, Celes remained quiet. It was as though she was contemplating something or maybe she was merely in a state of shock. Zevran had seen enough people who went into such states when witnessing killings, as well as a few others who committed the killings; mostly the children he stayed with during his training. However, he did not think that was the case, for surely this must not be the first time she has killed. It was puzzling.

Ioren had just ripped apart the back of her dress to clean the wounds there, as Celes lay on her back on the bed. Under normal circumstances, she probably would have chased them out; but the circumstances then were hardly normal. She lay, motionless, not even flinching when Ioren dabbed a salve on her cuts. Zevran's gaze moved tentatively from the painting he was looking at to Celes' back and jolted backwards. Fortunately for him, his back was usually against the wall, as it was this time, preventing it from an awkward meeting with the floor.

_What is her relation with the Guildmaster? She can't have been sent after me. _Zevran filed the concerns away in his mind to deal with later, as this was not something he could just brush off as being unimportant. The girl was proving to be a very good diversion indeed. He was relieved when Ioren finally bandaged her back, concealing what might have been the most disturbing image that imprinted itself into Zevran's mind since... since Ferelden. Out of sight...

"Zevran," Ioren muttered suddenly, breaking the silence in the room.

"Huh? Here I am. What is it?" Zevran stepped forward to see if there was any anomaly or some other reason Ioren could have for summoning him. Herbalism was not his strong suit, as he mentioned earlier. Surely the ex-priest would not expect him to wrap the girl up in bandages? He much preferred taking them off, though perhaps not this time.

Ioren took out a piece of blank vellum and scribbled a few items on it, then handed the paper to Zevran. "Here is a list of things I need from the apothecary. Please and thank you."

"Wow, what a waste of vellum. And you're welcome in advance." Zevran took the list and left. He returned about an hour later smelling of herbs and spices. Dusting off his blood-caked boots on the doormat, he placed the pack of medicinal salves on the table beside the door. "How is she?" he asked.

Ioren replied in a low tone, "She is asleep. A good thing too, considering how much she has been through these two days. A pity we could not have found her sooner."

_Crows torture other crows. It does not dismiss the fact that she might have been sent for my head. _Zevran nodded curtly. "Well, if anything changes, I can be found at the Femme Fatale, if you know where that is. And do not worry about the women there. They don't bite, unless you ask them to." He waved a goodbye to Ioren and disappeared from the room, grateful to a certain degree to be rid of those two, and partially disconsolate due to the loss of a diversion so to keep his thoughts in line.

"Who's at the door, Zev?"

"No one, Rin. Go back to sleep," Zev got off the bed, wondering who it could be knocking on his bedroom door in the dead of night. He was wary, of course, but most people who tried to kill him in the past did not bother to knock, so why start now?

"Zevran, she's missing." Ioren was standing at the doorway. He must have already gone looking for Celes because he was looking flustered and sweaty and was all red in the face. It did look quite silly coupled with his eye patch and his hastily put on clothing.

"Right. Let me go put on something proper." In Ioren's hurry, he may have forgotten to dress properly, but Zevran was not the type. These days, he never wandered the street without his armor, as you never know what or, more appropriately, who lurked in the shadows.

"Where are you going, Zev?" _Again with the questioning. _"I will be back, Rin. _Don't _worry." Zevran's hand trailed the boy's inner thigh as he left the room, ignoring Ioren's chastising look.

"I assume you have searched the city?" he asked Ioren. The man nodded. "Then perhaps she is not in the city. Have you tried looking elsewhere?"

"No, but why would she...?" Ioren asked and Zevran cut him off saying, "Fine, you continue searching the city if you like, and I will check the outskirts."

The streets were dark, and Zevran weaved through the buildings mechanically. He wondered why he decided to help Ioren find Celes and decided it was probably to get away from the man he nicknamed Rin in the bedroom, his disturbing dreams and maybe, just maybe, because he found Celes intriguing enough to warrant his efforts.

A lone woman he last saw in Ferelden blinding an archdemon showing up in his Antiva City, broke and bearing _that_ mark on her back, who then goes on to turn against the Crows, which was most likely where she got it from. Try as he might, Zevran was unable to decipher her purpose. Also, he could not let a deadly woman who might be after his life loose on the streets, hence the searching in the middle of the night.

He was quite a distance from the central district of Antiva City, pacing toward the general direction of Rialto Bay. Zevran scoured the outskirts and the poverty-stricken districts for signs of Celes to no avail and had taken to the shores. He was about to give up on the coast and return to Ioren when he spied a dark silhouette of a woman standing on the beach a little further south, hair and clothes billowing from the ocean breeze. He approached her stealthily.

Celes did not start when he approached her from behind, nor did she react when he sat down beside her or respond when he nudged her experimentally. Annoyed, he said, "You know, the normal policy around Antiva is that people are generally grateful to their lifesavers, unless you credit that all to your amazing luck." _In which case running away injured is probably the best way to test it. _

At this, Celes turned and looked at him momentarily before she stared off into the ocean again. "Thank you," she said in a small voice. "Luck, huh?"

"Yes. And we should be returning. Ioren must be wetting his pants worrying about you. Ha. Why did you feign sleep to come here?"

Celes did not budge. "Shipwreck." _Ah, the Baldur's Eye. _"That's how I wound up here. I was washed onto this very shore by the tides, I assume, two days before I first saw you in the square. I could find no discernable clue as to whether anyone on board had survived save for myself." Celes turned away from him, "Sometimes I think I lead a charmed existence, being spared from my close brushes with death. But sometimes I'm not so sure. I suppose this is just one of those days I question the Maker as to why I yet live." She fell into silence again.

Zevran just stood, watching her brood. He could tell from the sorrow in her expression that she was not lying... Or perhaps she _was _lying and was upset about something else. He sighed, wondering how he had yet again come to be so distrustful of others. _It is a survival instinct, _he told himself. But a small part of his conscience cursed at him saying, _it is this distrust that led to you hurting yourself and those around you before. _And they were both true.

_I may regret this later._ He decided to trust her, for now. Zevran ached to question her about her tattoo and the events that happened earlier that noon, but decided against it. Clearly, it was not something that was open for discussion in her current state. They could wait another day or two. He smiled at her, "I think I have enough luck to go around."

It must have been the way he said it that made her look interestingly at him. "Hm. You must tell me your story someday, and we can compare whose life is worst then." She smiled back.

_Likely. _"Deal, only if you tell me yours and not leave out any dirty details." Zevran nodded. He winced slightly at dusk's first light, and said, "Perhaps now would be a good time to head back?"


	17. Her Smile

An uninhibited, pure smile.

_I never thought it was possible. _Sure, he had asked Morrigan before why she did not smile more often, for women do look best when they smile. But he liked it also when they did not go around smiling all the time, for then they would just be too... pleasant. But this... her transitory behaviour was far from expected.

Zevran only returned to the Femme Fatale for an hour or so before returning to Estelle's Inn to check on the sleepwalker. He could not let her escape before sating his curiosity. The sun was out in full force by the time Zevran made it to the inn, and he heard the music coming from within. When he twisted the brass knob and stepped inside, he saw a bunch of people crowded around a table in the middle of the room, which was where the music was coming from, presumably. The music stopped, the men clapped and shouted praise.

Celes was sitting in the middle with two others, who Zevran recognized as the minstrels who often performed at the inn, Ranel and Raine. Their acts ranged from poetry to story-telling and music, though in Zevran's opinion, their poetry just did not cut it. Ranel was holding a lyre and Raine was clapping Celes on the back while gesturing at the flute in her hand. And she was smiling.

_Who would've thought..?_ That girl who scowled at him in the alleys and seemed so full of sadness...

"Thanks for finding her," Zevran turned and saw Ioren sitting in a chair nearby, watching him watching her. Zevran walked over and sat in an empty chair next to him. "Trust me; I did not do it for you. Now, would you mind explaining to me why you bothered sourcing out protection when you were perfectly capable of defending yourself?" Of course the man only rescued her to assuage his guilty conscience. Everything requires incentive.

Ioren blanched, and then replied, "Perhaps it would be best if I explained it in the presence of the young miss as well?" He cleared his throat and excused himself to go talk to Celes. After a short, muted exchange between the two, Ioren looked back at him and Zevran stood to follow them to their room, where they could escape any prying eyes. _The Priest with Secrets indeed._

"So you're saying you were not really looking for protection, but for people capable of aiding you in your search of this myth in the woods? I suppose the ten sovereign reward was a lie too?" Celes was looming over Ioren and waving her hands in the air in obvious vexation. Ioren cowered and shook his head meekly.

Zevran was resisting the urge to scoff at him, but he seemed a good enough man, if not a bit dishonest. After all, he was from the Chantry, was he not? Then again, Leliana came from the Chantry too. "Heh." Zevran caught their attention by saying, "You conveniently left out the reason you were being hunted by the Crows. Surely you know why they were commissioned for you?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Ioren just answered, "I have no idea."

_Sure, you don't._ He let the answer go unchallenged, as Celes did the same. However, he had his suspicions that it had something to do with his eye patch or his escape from the Chantry, the silly quest of his; or the usual. Whatever the case, Zevran felt that he had become too involved in whatever was going on for his liking. He would get his answers from Celes, and leave. If she wanted to follow the priest on his quest, that was her business.

"Why should I even help you? Give me _one _reason. I have no time for this. As the King's consul, I have business to attend to in Rivain." Celes was saying to Ioren.

"You are the King's... Nevarra? No? The Ferelden King?" Ioren's eyes widened.

"Alistair?" Zevran looked up slightly. It was a surprise, no doubt, but he would not show it.

"Yes, and... yes. You know Alistair?" Just as Ioren's eyes widened, Celes' eyes narrowed at Zevran.

Zevran shrugged and said, "More or less. We travelled together for the most part of the year, after I tried to kill him." _So, she's here under Alistair's command... That certainly changes things. _

"You tried to what? Never mind. Either way, I cannot get involved." She paused abruptly, and held a hand to her forehead in thought. "Unless... Ioren, if I help you, will you accompany me to Rivain? I find myself in need of skilled assistance as well. What do you say? I watch your back and you watch mine?"

Zevran raised an eyebrow. _Now that – I would do. _Celes seemed to have forgotten about Zevran's presence, but no matter. He preferred to watch for now. Ioren mulled the idea over and agreed, albeit in a disgruntled manner. _The man must be feeling guiltier than I thought. _Zevran spoke up, "What exactly did Alistair send you to do?"

"I was to investigate rumours of a dragon breeder around Rivain. And this Andraste's descendant business would be an interesting addition to the report as well."

"And if the rumours prove to be true? What then? Will you go waltzing into a dragon's lair with Ioren?" Celes frowned and Zevran realized he could have phrased it better. Perhaps he should practice showing concern more often.

"I thought of hiring mercenaries, at first. But that would require some capital. After all, I lost all my men and money in the shipwreck. Mercenaries don't fight for nothing, you know." There was a hint of defeat in her tone. She was a strong woman, and clearly did not intend to return until her job was done. Sierra did not give up either, even when all odds were stacked against her. And he respected that. _Ha, Crow blood, perhaps?_

"I will help you."

Surprised, her jaw dropped, literally, and it took her a few moments to piece together a reply. "Thank you. I... I don't know how to repay you. I... Why are you so nice to me?" Her surprise was slowly changing to disbelief, it seemed.

"And why not? I enjoy the company of beautiful and enchanting women such as yourself." He grinned at her. Strangely enough, she took the flattery in stride and thanked him for it the way she would thank a person who handed her a salt shaker from one end of the table. And there he thought his charms did not work on her, though he preferred it when he could wring some sort of response. Wynne used to give him that satisfaction.

From all his observations to that point, Celes seemed... capricious. But still, what did he know? He just met the woman.

* * *

_Zevran... Zevran... Zevran..._

The name echoed in her head all the way from her captors' lair to the inn and persisted until the man left her room.

"_What is your relationship with Zevran?" "What do you know about Zevran?" "Why is Zevran accompanying you?"_

She told them repeatedly that she knew nothing of the man. But they did not believe her. They lashed out at her repeatedly, did things she did not care to remember, but she took it all. She endured. It was when he tried to touch her...

Celes ran. She had to escape. The walls were closing in on her, so she ran.

Subconsciously, she arrived at the shore she later learned was called Rialto Bay. She sat, and let the sea breeze calm her thoughts and the repeated sounds of the waves crashing the shore numb her mind. She nearly fell asleep, just sitting there for Maker only knew how long. It was dark, so she rose, ready to leave, and turned to look at the ocean who claimed so many of her companion's lives before returning.

That was when _that_ man appeared at her side.

Funny thing that he should talk about luck. She never thought about her own luck. Supposedly, many would consider her lucky, but why did she not feel so? To have her parents killed, so she could be rescued by the Howes. To be rescued by the Howes, just to be put under the 'care' of Rendon Howe. To be abused by Arl Howe, and saved by Sierra's love. To fall in love with Sierra, and losing her all too soon after. It was ironic that Howe's murder of Sierra's family earned Celes her freedom, when the archdemon Sierra sacrificed herself to kill enslaved Celes once again to the duties of a Grey Warden. And now, she survived a shipwreck, when all her companions did not. Most people would call it luck... Rather she just died along with the rest when they did than to suffer the Crow's interrogation, only to be rescued a little too late – by the man who was probably the reason behind the torture.

Was it strange that she should find it hard to find herself grateful for being saved? Probably not_._ She thanked Zevran anyway. They returned together.

Celes tried to be bitter. She did. She wanted to hate him. To hate life. To hate everything. But she could not. All she could think of then was, "_This is my chance to change things." _All along, she did not truly have a sense of identity, and now she did, though it was partially forced and bestowed upon her. Whether it was a good thing, she knew not. But being nameless had served her well in the past, for then, she could be anyone and no one. However, she was now the King's Consul and her duty epitomized her being. She fingered her necklace, and thought, _I will live on for all those who did not make it. _There was no reason she could not turn it into something good.

She could not sleep, and as the sun was already up when she returned to her room, she took a bath and went down to enquire about a ship to Rivain. When she opened the room door, she heard the familiar trill of a flute accompanied by a faint strumming. It was music for her soul. Her day was significantly brightened up when Raine lent the flute to her and let her play. She even asked for some Ferelden tunes, which was of her forte. It got even better when Ranel joined in with his lyre. It was a great start to the new day.

And now, the two morons just went and ruined it. It was true that she intended to look into the rumours of Andraste's descendant besides the dragon breeder, and this was opportune. But it angered her that her life was placed on the line for an imbecile priest who could have saved her from the whole ordeal if he did not resort to such roundabout methods of getting help. She wanted to yell at him again when Zevran offered his help, which was most unexpected.

Celes did not know how to respond. On one hand, she had no intense desire for his companionship; but on the other, she found herself in a position where she could not refuse help. That would just seem impolite, and impractical. _Forever the pragmatist, that's me._

She thanked Zevran with whatever words came out of her mouth and cursed inwardly for managing to sound completely desperate. His reply was not one she expected, but perhaps she should not expect so much of a person she knew nothing of. She saw him looking at her for a response, so she thanked him, properly this time, to salvage whatever was left of her tattered dignity.

"Wonderful!" Ioren rose from his chair and raised his arms in exhilaration. "I will begin making preparations. If you will excuse me."

"Wait –" Celes still had questions for the man, but he was gone already, the door hanging open behind him. "Damn." She sat back down and turned to Zevran. "So..."

"You wish to talk? Ah, good. I have a question for you." Zevran talked so quickly she was not able to get a word in sideways until she interrupted.

"Wait." He halted, and she continued. "I have questions for you too. So, let's play fair. We take turns, all right?" She gestured between them with her finger and sat back in her chair. There were some things she wanted to know about this elf too.

"Like... a game? Very well, if it pleases you." Zevran sat back in his chair and brought one of his legs over the other. He lifted his hand as if to say, 'go ahead'.

Celes nodded. "Oh, me first? Alright. Let's see..." The question she was dying to ask or rather, shout at him, was 'Why are the Crows after you?' But she pushed that aside. It would seem too presumptuous without getting to know him a little bit more... "How does an elf live so well in the city? Oh." She clamped her mouth with both hands and then released, hurriedly saying, "I am _so_ sorry. I did not mean it that way. You just seem to be doing so well for yourself..."

"Ah, it is all right. I have seen how elves live in Ferelden and... It is different here. The humans bear no ill will against us elves though some still live in poverty in the slums, some others are more fortunate. Like myself, for instance. Does that answer your question?"

"No. I mean, yes." Celes looked down at her lap. "Your turn."

"No? Perhaps I was being too... broad in my answer? I used to be a Crow, once. That is the way most elves live the good life, anyway. Either that, or working for human lords and ladies. After all, the royal palace is just a few hundred paces away, surrounded by other noble houses. I hope that was the answer you seeked. So, my first question is... Why are you so short?" Zevran was deadpan serious, and Celes giggled at his question.

"Is this revenge for my first question? Ha ha. Never mind. Am I _that_ short?" Celes was still giggling when she responded.

Now Zevran was laughing a bit too. Laughter _is _contagious, after all. "Yes, you are, my lady. No offense meant, of course. But you are just a hair's length shorter than I am. Well, not my hair, obviously. But yes, you are short for a human."

Celes stopped the giggles and smiled, "Maybe that is because I am not entirely human."

"Oh? What _are_ you, then?" Zevran eyed her curiously.

"I didn't mean that! I mean, yes, I am human. But I am what some call a Halfling, a child of mixed blood." Celes leaned on the side of her chair. "That is truly the only reason I can think of that would explain my height, besides that I am just a really short human."

"Fascinating." Zevran's grin was widening with each passing sentence. "It is nice to have a woman around who is smaller in size than I am." He saw the look she gave him and cheerfully continued. "That is a good thing of course. You have all the supple curves of a human woman and the height and angular features of the elves, as well. Perfect."

_What is he insinuating?_ _That she was the perfect size for him? _"All right. You have your answer; now tell me this – What was your relationship with Sierra? How did you get to know her?" It was something she wanted to know for awhile now. Sierra had told her about her adventures, and it was all well and good, but she left out many details, including possibly her romance with the king. Celes was not stupid, and it was not as though she did not notice Alistair's pining expressions whenever her name was brought up in conversations.

"A trade, then? My story for yours, though I sense yours would be equally, if not more, interesting." _I wonder what gave it away._ Sierra consented and Zevran continued to tell her about his job to assassinate Sierra and how he pledged himself to her, explaining how they met and their relationship conveniently. "And the rest was history. I am no bard, but that should be enough to sate your curiosity. Now, what say you do the same for mine, hmm?"

_That would explain the Crow's questioning. _Celes was not very surprised to hear that he used to be an assassin, and an Antivan Crow, no less. And he was the very one hired by Arl Howe to kill Celes, which made things somewhat personal. She did not rightly know how to respond to the situation, and so disregarded the analysing and said, "Yes. Ahh, I do not know why my relationship with Sierra would interest you, but we were good friends since childhood. She was the youngest child of the Cousland family in Highever and I was a maid in the Howe estate. Their family used to visit Amaranthine, and that is how we got close."

"Ah, my apologies then, for killing your employer. I assure you, he had it coming." Zevran's apology was all but sincere, but Celes did not mind.

"I hope you tortured him before you killed him." Celes was surprised at her own words, but they were out before she could stop them.

Zevran raised an eyebrow and said, "Hm. It seems my opinion of you has just been altered slightly."

Celes snorted, "Just slightly?"

"Just so." Zevran nodded.

"Hm. So... What can you tell me about Alistair?" Celes and Zevran talked until lunchtime came and went. It was a nice change to have someone to talk to who was not as straight as Chantry priests.

"Did you know that you have a tattoo on your back?"

"No, I don't." Celes leaned back on the wall and crouched down, tracing circles in the carpet. She was becoming restless of staying inside. "Besides, how would you know?"

"Oh, you certainly do, my dear. If you wish, I could show you." Zevran's smile hinted at something Celes did not grasp. Nonetheless, her hand reached for the back of her dress instinctively. It was true that she did not look at her back in the mirror for ages, but she did not expect she would have ever missed something like a tattoo, would she? Or did she just despise the person she saw in the mirror to the extent she would overlook such a thing?

"Is... is there a mirror around here?" Zevran left the room for a moment and returned with a wall mirror the size of his chest. Celes looked around for a place to hang it but was at a loss. Noticing this, Zevran offered, "I can hold it up for you, if you wish."

Celes accepted gratefully without a moment's hesitation, to his surprise. Then she proceeded to slip the sleeves of her dress off to expose her back, while holding the front of her garment up with one arm. She tore roughly at the bandages. Zevran shifted slightly and held the mirror up for her to see. Celes did not notice his slightly paling face because her own was flushing a bright red.

"Oh!" The tattoo she saw was of two black wings spread across her shoulder blades, outlined in a deep red. They were sharp at the end and looked like a raven's. There were markings that looked like eyes in the midst of black feathers. Both sides would almost be symmetrical if not for the slightly marred wing tips that almost looked like blood dripping from its ends, or it might just be the torn flesh that made it look that way. "That looks... amazing!"

Celes squinted at the mirror slightly, grinning. "I wonder where I got this from..." She reached a hand back to trace the outline of the ink and the scars. _How strange that no one who might have seen it ever mentioned it before... even Sierra. _No matter, it was stunning.

Celes was admiring the tattoo so much that she almost forgot Zevran was around until he cleared his throat and said, "My dear... Are you aware that you bear the Guildmaster's Mark of the Crow?"


	18. A Nonjudgmental Crowd

"You're joking." Celes laughed. "What is that, anyway?" She pulled the bandage straps aside and let them fall loosely around her front, continuing to admire the tattoo.

"I assure you, fair Warden. I kid you not."

At this comment, Celes pulled the dress back up and whipped around to face Zevran. "How do you know?"

"That your brand is the Mark of the Crows? Or perhaps you mean that you are a Grey Warden? You are wearing one of Alistair's hand-made trinkets, are you not? With the darkspawn blood." Zevran gestured at the chain around her neck. Celes reached up to fiddle with it. She did not think anyone here would have noticed, or even know what the amulet represented. "Why so surprised? Your good friend told me about them. Hers looked very similar, too. But that is beside the point here." Zevran put the mirror down on the table and leaned against its edges.

"How should I put this? A Guildmaster is the leader in the House of Crows, the head of the house. And succession used to be determined through... well, assassination. But this was an ancient practice, as the Crows finally decided that it would be destructive to have fellow Crows secretly plotting against one another. Hence, this practice was abandoned and successors were thereafter determined through inheritance, or sometimes, choice. Though, to be fair, the guildmaster's choice can sometimes still lead to plotting and thus inheritance has been the more adopted choice in the past." Zevran stopped for air and Celes interjected.

"Do assassins even have children?" she asked.

Zevran smiled, "You have a good point. No, usually, the trend is to not have children. However, sometimes, the odd little accident happens. But the Guildmaster could easily be acclaimed as the most powerful person in Antiva, and commands great loyalty in the House. Such people have near no one to fear and could easily take wives – or not – and sire children, I suppose. And who would dare cross them? I wouldn't, though I have thought about it. No doubt many have. It is not an easy task, taking over as Guildmaster without being chosen, either by men or by birth. You would have to slaughter an entire family line and whoever was opposed to your ruling and... Let's just leave it at 'it is not an easy task', shall we?"

"Right." Celes sat in the chair and crossed her arms. She had a feeling this might drag on.

"So, long story short. Only the Guildmaster's chosen bears the Mark of the Crows until their ascension to power, then I believe it is hidden for some reason or another. Silly tradition. I do believe our current Guildmaster has one running down her collarbone, but I have yet to see it." Zevran reached up to trace his own tattoo. "I wonder where you got yours from. Those who falsely bear the mark are usually hunted down. And killed."

"Wait, wait. This is too much. Are you sure of all this?" Celes leaned on her right hand, rubbing against her temples gently, and looked up at Zevran.

"Oh, yes. Quite sure. You would not be related to the Guildmaster in any way, would you?"

"No! I am Ferelden. Well, at least... My father is. My father was Dalish, and my mother was from Rainesfere." Celes shook her head. _No... I can't be related to anyone from Antiva._

"And you know this, how? Did they... tell you? What is your full name?" Zevran's brow pressed down on his left eye while the other raised just a little, and he prodded her for details she gave without question.

"My name is Celes Leonar. And yes! They told me. Why should I not believe them? They are my parents!" Celes was standing now. She was proud of her lineage. Her father, a proud Dalish warrior; though she was not too sure about her mother. It was unnerving that these foundations of her origins were being questioned.

He only said, "Interesting," and did not continue.

"What? What is so interesting? Tell me!" Celes had to stop herself from stomping on the floor from frustration. Why was he making her wait? What was going through his mind? Were her parents lying to her?

Zevran shook his head a bit and said, "Sorry. It's just... Leonar strikes a chord. I know the name from somewhere..."

"Well?" Zevran could only be at most six years older than her, how could he know her parents?

"Ah!" He looked up suddenly, "The merchant prince, Treides Leonar."

"Merchant prince...?" Celes stared back at him, totally clueless.

He caught on and continued, "Ah, the ignorance of outsiders. They are part of the system in the north-eastern parts, but that is not important. What is, is that the Crows are often tied up with the business of nobles, including the princes. I remember, when I was just inducted into the Crows myself, there was a huge mission going on. Half the house was dispatched to Ferelden after a Ser Leonar, by the order of the Guildmaster herself. I later found out that the man had caused a scandal in the house of Crows years ago, eloping with the former Guildmaster's eldest daughter, Solare. Close enough to home for you?"

_It can't be..._

"What? And this... Ser Leonar was an elf? There were elven princes?" Celes' mind was whirling, trying to recall every detail that she could remember of her parents, but they were so vague... _Papa had tattoos – vallaslin, he called them – he must have been Dalish! No, he could have gotten them afterward... What about mamae? She only said she left her family in Rainesfere. Maker..._

Zevran shrugged, "I do not know much of this myself. Perhaps you would be bold enough to confront the current Guildmaster about this someday, hmm? She _is_ Solare's twin sister, after all, assuming that is indeed your mother. But that would mean storming the Crow's headquarters, and is not something I had planned in the near future." His tone was complacent.

"No... No, I need to focus now. These things... are not as important." But they were. And she knew it. Perhaps in the future she might. She was still too weak.

"Good. In the meantime, I would suggest not walking around bare back. It would not do to get captured again, would it?" Zevran picked up the mirror and left the room after Celes nodded in response. They were done talking.

_Those arguments were not really about the exile, were they?  
The pain... It wasn't a punishment._

_"Mamae, it hurts!" "Hold on, baby. It will be over soon..." The cloth was stained red._

_No point in stopping by Rainesfere now, I suppose._

Celes bent over and clutched her head with both hands. _R__efuse to develop a new set of issues... Need some air._ She needed to clear her head.

She left the tavern to find it drizzling outside. Celes walked and walked to clear her head, and arrived at a meadow where the flowers were in full bloom. The little blossoms glistened with dew, which under the afternoon sun made the meadow shine. She only returned in the evening.

"Estelle, why is Antiva so hot all the time? Should it not be approaching winter now?" She asked the lady as she sat down for dinner.

"Why, darling, Antiva is our temperate mistress! The land of eternal summer! Even during winter, the sun shines till eve. It is for the better, no? We do not need to bundle up when we leave the house." Estelle replied and left to serve the other tables.

Estelle twirled the spoon around the bowl of chowder. "That would be nice indeed." _Next thing I know, the woman will be suggesting we leave the house topless for fear of sweating._ She shook her head to herself and returned to her meal.

Celes would certainly be glad to be leaving the next day. She was really getting sick of all the seafood, and feared she was beginning to reek of fish. Pushing her bowl away, she stood, as a burly man approached her. His breath rank of alcohol when he opened it to speak.

" 'lo there," he said, barely managing to keep himself upright and almost crashing into her as he leaned over to grab the counter. Celes' eyes widened.

"Yes? What do you want?" _No harm entertaining him for awhile, I guess._

"Mmm. Yer a pretty wench, aren't ye?" He let out a low, slightly maniacal-like laughter. "Fancy a little... boat rockin'? Heh."

_Oh, no. _It was Thomas all over again, except instead of drunken noble boy, it was drunken egoistic sailor. She knew what to do. "Why, ser. You are too kind. Shall I escort you to your room?" Men truly are simple beings.

"Heh. Heh." The man turned around and raised his mugs to his friends, slurring his words. "Ye see? Told ye bastards no lousy wench kinna resist ol' Blake."

Celes gave him a coy smile and put her arm around him. "Shall we?"

He did not even manage to touch her, of course, for she did what she always did to Thomas. Play nice maid, put him to bed; or knock him out cold _then _put him to bed, then swipe something and leave. This way, he thinks he got some and she gets some. She had just opened the room door and stepped out when she yelped.

"Scared you, did I? Though I usually get a different reaction when I surprise other women." Zevran stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Nice work, though to be fair, he was too drunk to be any challenge. But still, you make do." He held out the pouch she took from ol' Blake.

"Hey! That's mine!" She reached for it, though it was just evil the way he wielded it above her, taunting her height. He seemed to enjoy it immensely. "Honestly, can't you find fun elsewhere?"

Zevran shook his head complacently and said, "Now now, what ever happened to sharing? Ha ha. Here you go. Now come with me, you will get the chance to see a professional at work." He lobbed the pouch to her and she caught it with both hands, and followed him down the stairs.

She wouldn't say it was not interesting watching the elf seduce women to steal from them, for he really had rather interesting methods of his own. But seducing a woman, then spending three hours with her in the bedroom before appearing with a coin pouch, all the while making Celes wait outside? Even she would not make an enemy wait that long, and it was not as though they were being quiet.

_He's pure evil, _her impatience decided this for her as she sat in her room feeling like an idiot for waiting the first two hours.

"All that, and all you have to say is, 'sorry, you forgot'?" She threw a handful of coins at him, for it was the only thing within reach, not counting her daggers or the table.

He smirked, "Now, now. No need to be so impetuous. You might spark something." Zevran placed the pouch on her table and said, "Anyway, this should cover most of our travel expenses. I will see you tomorrow, warden. Until then," he tilted his head to the right in an informal salute and left the room before Celes could come up with a better comeback than the one running through her mind.

"Blast." Celes was left feeling frustrated. She slammed her hand on the table and heard the jingle of coins. She opened the pouch Zevran left and exclaimed, "Holy Maker!"

* * *

"Maker be damned." _Another possible recruit. Another bloody trip. _Anders had had enough of recruitment missions; and honestly, enough of the Grey Wardens too. And not to mention, Gayle was not exactly a joy to be around, either. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

Being one of the few Grey Wardens to join the Ferelden order apparently came with much responsibility; and, truth be told, was not something he was bad at, just something he did not enjoy. It didn't make things better that the people all looked at him funnier now that he was travelling with Gayle. Now, he is 'the mage who travels with the Orlesian'. Besides that, there were hardly any women around Vigil's Keep, and the place was so gloomy! He feared for his own sanity. _I wonder if the cells were better._

"Seweryn, go collect the equipment." Gayle barked orders at them all as they prepared to set out the next day to Dragon's Peak. _Oh, so he calls the dwarf by name. _Anders folded his arms and sighed. At least he was still on the same team with Hughe. He could no longer stand a moment of Eldric and his eternal hunger to exact 'retribution' upon those who oppose justice, and by justice, he really means his own ego; he was also slightly appalled by Eldric's affiliation towards tossing carcasses into lakes. Hughe was more fun, and sane. Luckily, Eldric was being assigned to castle duty. _That would teach him for trying to take the lead from Gayle, though I'm not sure Gayle's any better._

Hughe came over and patted him over the back. "Hey, Anders. I say we head down to the city and have ourselves some fun before we leave tomorrow. Don't look like we'll be near civilisation for awhile after tomorrow." Hughe had softened up to him a lot in the past two and a half months, though he was still cold and formal towards others he was not comfortable with.

"Hm, sounds good. I _will_ go, as long as you keep those big hands away from me. I don't need you hitting me all the time, honestly. Promise me there will be women where we are going." Anders clasped his hands together in mock prayer and Hughe laughed.

"Of course! Always women where I go, friend. And toughen up!" He patted Anders on the back again, blowing all the wind out of him. Anders bent forward and coughed slightly while Hughe just clutched his abdomen and laughed again.

"Ugh. I don't know why I put up with you, Hughe." Anders held both hands to his back and pushed himself upright. And as they started down the steps of the keep, Hughe said, "Because I bring the ladies."

"I always thought it was because we shared loving bonds of brotherhood." He did not really bring the ladies. It was more like the ladies were less terrified of him. _Bah._

"Ha! Hardly." Hughe's hand came again but this time it was aimed for his shoulder. Anders winced and took it, for Hughe would certainly fall over at the force he put into his swings if Anders had avoided it.

"Hardly out of the keep and already aching." Anders rolled his shoulders back. He was hardly the weak type, but neither was Hughe. The man did not hold back on his blows. "I hope someone there gives a good massage. You're just like Celes, except more brutal." He pouted. Hughe pouted back. And they both laughed.

He wondered why he got along with the man. It was probably because he did not believe all the Chantry nonsense about fearing mages. He was one of those, the sympathetic ones, hard as they may be to come across.

"Seweryn? I thought he was running an errand." Anders and Hughe stopped at the door of the tavern after spotting their fellow warden already chugging ale with the girls.

"Bloody dwarf beat us to it!" Hughe stomped over and jostled him into sharing the barrel. Anders watched for a moment then proceeded to join the throng.

It was indeed circumstance that led Anders to join the wardens' ranks, but for the people that he remained. Life would be less interesting otherwise.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I felt bad for neglecting Anders so I had to fit this in! Who misses Anders? D: I sure do, but we'll get back to him once I wrap up Celes so this is the last you'll see of Anders for a lil' while._


	19. Leaving Sand City

They were everywhere, big and small. Hideous creatures... They looked like darkspawn, and yet they did not look like any she had encountered before. They were coming. She needed to go... But she could not. The view shifted to the left and right showing no escape. Then the earth shook, and tremors ran through her spine.

"Celes."

Celes awoke to find a pair of blood-caked hands clutching her arms and screamed. The man released her and she scrambled backwards and fell off the other side of the bed.

"...Ioren? Maker's blood! Who did you kill?" She looked blearily at the priest while picking herself off the floor. He was covered in dried blood splatters from head to toe, and the only reason she could think of for his state was that he killed somebody. What else could it be?

Ioren cleared his throat as he stood up straight. "I- I was helping Estelle kill some of the rats in the larder. They happen to bleed a lot."

"And you decided to come in to disgust and scare me with rat blood?" Celes eyed him strangely.

"No. I was just – never mind." He started to say something but shook his head, "Sorry to bother you." Ioren turned to leave and Celes just looked after him. She did not have the will to deal with him at that moment. They would be leaving soon and she would see him again anyway, and she was all but rested. _I need to wake up undisturbed once._ Celes waited for her heart to stop its rapid pounding before dragging herself out of bed, all the while grumbling about men and their compulsion to disrupt her sleep.

_Rats. _She allowed herself to picture Ioren chasing rats around the kitchen. She exhaled heavily at the thought of the coming expedition.

_No more seafood – _was all she thought about when she got off the last stair and entered the main dining area. The place was a mess of men who smelled of sweat, fish and the sea. She spotted Ioren sitting at the counter with the person she was hoping to meet only much later in the day – Zevran. Tempting as it was to simply walk the opposite direction and sit at any other table where the men were more than welcoming, she pressed on and took to a seat beside Ioren; though it may have been the stench at the other tables which drove her to do so.

"One would wonder what you dream of till the break of dawn, my dear Celes. The sounds you make..." There was that loathsome smirk of his plastered on his face. Celes felt the need to stab something.

"Lady Cousland. My parents..." _And shadows._ She gave him short, quick answers in hopes to cease the inquisitive questions; then quickly realized her mistake. Zevran leaned forward for full view of her past Ioren as she took the warm bowl of chowder from Estelle, nodding her thanks. He examined her thoughtfully as though weighing out the options. She could just see the words going through his mind, telepathically sending the question to her. _Which to ask about first?_

The key to avoidance is to preoccupy oneself. And it would be rude to talk with a full mouth. Celes was not one who excelled in table etiquette under stress and ended up stuffing her mouth with every spoonful and then excusing herself and rushing out the door in a harried manner, leaving the men staring after her, perplexed. Or more likely, amused.

In hindsight, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Celes sat on the edge of the brick fountain facing the general direction of the inn. _Perhaps I should rethink playing leader a bit._ She was still slightly uncomfortable in her newfound position, as Ioren passed all the decision-making to her and Zevran seemed comfortable to follow. _Perhaps I should have let him step up instead._ No matter which way she looked at the situation, her taking the lead was inevitable.

Her breathing calmed slightly. _Toughen up, Leonar_.

"Sorry. I had to..." she paused for the briefest of moments, "get some supplies." Celes returned shouldering a long blade that was wrapped in cloth and bound with string and some bottles from the apothecary, though it seemed Zevran did not buy into her story judging by the way he smiled at her. They were all gathered in her room around the small table by the vanity. Ioren was poring over a map while Zevran sat idly by. "It is to my understanding that our destination is the Arlathan Forest?" She added when no one said anything.

Ioren did not bother to look up and said, "Yes. That is correct. About two week's travel by foot to the south-eastern edge of the forest."

"I keep telling you, we won't be able to enter." Zevran sighed and placed a hand on his forehead, and rested his elbow on the table. "No one has been able to enter that forest. Ever."

Celes raised an eyebrow at Ioren, one that demanded an explanation. He had none. "Nevertheless, we have to try. Who's to say we will not discover an entrance?" There was something he was not telling her, she had a feeling he knew they would be able to enter.

Subtlety would be wasted on those she would be travelling with anyway. "What are you hiding?" An outright question - which made Ioren shift slightly in his seat.

"N- nothing. Why would you think..?"

Celes stared him down and he relented. "All right. My guess..." _A guess? Likely. _"...is that if Andraste's descendant has entered the forest, it might mean there would be some way for us to enter as well."

"Hm." She nodded. "It's worth a shot."

"Such optimism." Zevran chipped in with his own comment.

Celes turned to him. "Refreshing, isn't it? Skepticism would do us no good at our current situation. Save that for when we hit a dead end." _Might be too late then._

"I suppose this is still an option, even if it is one based on blind hope." His words rang true, but she trusted her instinct. "Your call."

Celes pressed a hand on the map and drew it closer. "When you say two weeks by foot, do you mean we will be passing through the Drylands?" Her index finger traced a small path marked on the map that ran through the Drylands. "I don't like the sound of 'dry'." Scaling the shore before moving inland could not even be considered for it would be futile and a waste of time if they eventually wound up doing the same thing.

Zevran contributed, "Yes, it is something of a desert, you see. The most beautiful white sand, flowing with the wind. It mimics the waves of the ocean in its movement, though it is advised that you keep your mouth shut at most times. Swallowing too much sand could be potentially detrimental to your ability to breathe."

"Thanks for the advice, but what I meant was – what about water?" She mentally calculated the odds of them surviving a week without water. They weren't good.

Ioren pointed to the small blue markings on the map, "Oases. I have marked a few on the map."

"How do you know they're there?"

"Stories from adventurers, though I am not fully certain of the reliability of their fanciful tales. Surely there cannot be three oases next to one another here. And I'm pretty sure there isn't a giant sand scorpion the size of a mountain there..." He pointed to where three blue dots were lined up side by side on the map, then on the top end of the travel route at a small cross. It definitely did not do much to assuage Celes' insecurities.

Zevran probably noted her expression because he quickly added, "There are people who have made it as far as to the edge of the forest before and back. So there must be some oases on the way there. Besides, there was once a Dalish clan that was travelling in that direction. If a clan can make it through the drylands, I don't see why we cannot do the same."

_And who is to say they made it through?_ – was what she wanted to say, but she simply nodded. There was no point in arguing about it further since they would be going either way. She then asked the question that was on both hers and Zevran's mind, "Ioren, why are you looking for this descendent of Andraste? It can't be because you are oh-so-pious. You were excommunicated from the Tevinter Chantry, were you not?"

"Actually..." He cleared his throat again, and continued. "This is the reason the Chantry turned its back against me. They hate those who claim ties to Andraste, and when I tried to investigate into the matter, I was branded a blasphemer and cast from the Chantry I once led. There has been some who have tried to claim ties before, contacting the Chantry for reasons I do not know; But every one of these 'descendants' have disappeared, almost too conveniently from society and from record books. I sent word to the Divine in Orlais, but they did not respond, I assume, because our Chantry does not uphold their tradition of female reverends. So here I am, seeking the truth behind it all."

Celes nodded, while Zevran gave him an almost approving look. "You led the Chantry in the Tevinter? Were you the revered father in your city?"

"Yes. Minrathous had the most beautiful cathedral..." His eyes gained a wistful look as he recalled the city from whence he came.

Zevran cocked his head to one side, "You travelled a long distance." The words had a whole other meaning to them. Celes suspected it was something on the lines of 'who were you fleeing from?'. This was probably lost to Ioren as he let out a tired sigh and shrugged. "At least now my travels have amounted to something. I never thought I would meet a representative from the Ferelden monarch who then aids me in my quest. I consider myself rather lucky, all things considered."

"I'm so glad my being shipwrecked has brought you such joy." Celes muttered bitterly. She then saw the hurt look on Ioren's face and hurriedly apologized. "I'm sorry, Ioren. I did not mean it that way..." She pressed her palm to her temple.

"No harm done," Ioren rolled up the map and stuffed it into his pack. "Perhaps we should delay our departure by another day." He seemed to be looking intently at her while saying this, causing her to question his reasons for the delay.

"Why? Why can't we leave now? It's barely past noon." Celes looked from Ioren's concerned look to Zevran's cheeky smirk. "What?"

"Nothing, my dear." Zevran placed one hand on his waist and the other moved to her face. He brushed away the lock of hair obscuring half of her left eye and said, "You just look so... tired."

"Oh." Her mouth rounded in understanding. She really did not get much sleep the night before – he knew why – and even then she had a restless night, her slumber haunted by black figures that surrounded her. The thought of sleeping in during the day was daunting and alluring at the same time. After a moment's rumination she decided against it, they needed to get moving soon. Two weeks... "I'm ready to leave if you are."

At this Ioren broke into a wide smile and said, "Great. Shall we meet at the North exit?"

Zevran nodded, "See you all at the drawbridge then," and left. Ioren made his exit as well, but she managed to slip him some coins before he did.

Watching them go, Celes' shoulders sagged and she sat on the bed, allowing herself a few moments of rest. She did want to leave, partially because of the overload of seafood but more so due to the fact that every additional day spent in the city increases the chances of being found by the Crows. She wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. Hence, she prepared herself to leave.

Celes changed into her armor and belted her daggers. She procured a small leather pack from the local commodities market to place her flasks and the machete. She still needed a bedroll, at the very least, to sleep in. She wondered if there would be sandstorms in the Drylands. A round trip to the market later, Celes made her way to the northern exit of the city.

_Seems like I'm the first one here._ She looked around for her companions and did not see any of them. _I never truly appreciated the beauty of this city. _It was her first time out of Ferelden, and circumstances dictated she come and go so soon. But it was alright, because she knew she would be back to the glorious Antiva City.

* * *

_What is Alistair planning, sending this girl here?_

Zevran suited up and was stringing his bow which had been out of use for awhile. His daggers were always sharp and hidden behind his back in their sheaths, and he gathered his usual items and left the room. Something was nagging at him as he brushed away the sultry Torrien and the sashay of women who were trying to entice him to staying. _The girl dreams of Lady Cousland..._

The elven assassin had only returned to Antiva the month before and had not stayed very long, yet he felt the need to leave. It was strange, considering how much he longed to return before. It would be nice to leave the city behind and live on the road again, he thought, living for the present instead of pining for the past. _Yes, perhaps it was best I left._

He was a short distance away from the gates when he saw a lone figure tracing the cracks on the greystone walls on either side of the bridge. He smiled and continued on until she noticed him approach. She waved at him with all the enthusiasm of a newborn pup, as though fearing he would not see her. How could he not? She was a sight, the only fair maiden in the lot of tan Antivans, with her ebony hair and peculiar lack of height, even the guard was staring at her strangely. He wondered if she truly did not notice the outright display of interest or she was just used to being stared at that way.

"Where's Ioren?" she asked when he came within shouting distance. He shrugged and continued forward before saying calmly, "He isn't with me. Did you wait long?"

She shook her head, "No. Well, maybe just a little." The way the one side of her lip lifted slightly more than her other revealing the gritted row of small teeth impressed upon Zevran that she had in fact waited for some time and did not want to admit it. That, and the way she was tracing the spaces in between the stones that made up the wall.

"We'll leave as soon as Ioren arrives." They both stood staring into the city. Zevran admired his beautiful hometown and his gaze moved along the crystalline River Verens waters that flowed from the Bay. It was so quiet now that they were away from the city centre. Minutes passed, and he glanced over at Celes, she had been silent the whole time. "Is it true?"

"Hm?" her head whipped around to face him, sending her hair flying the other way with the breeze.

"Your parents. Are they really..?" He made a slow hand movement prompting her answer. Her expression changed to one of apprehension, she did not seem to like the subject much now. She was so interested before. _True._

She bit her lower lip. He waited until she slowly opened her mouth halfway to speak. "I always believed..." she began, before stopping short. She clamped her lips together and frowned, then said softly, "I suppose it is true."

Zevran's mouth opened into an 'ah' and he smiled. "It's alright. We will find out when we come back." In those words, he concluded that they would be back in the future and that he would help her discover her heritage. She smiled at him thankfully and he returned it.

Zevran tilted his head back to see the tall arch of the gate and the magnificent timber drawbridge. The gates were something of renown, for the nation of Antiva had never seen invasions from foreign forces. It was a stonemason's fantasy to build the walls of a city that could stand proud without fear of destruction. He wondered why nobody ever bothered to polish its appearance.

"Hey, Zevran," he turned to face Celes, giving her his attention. "Do you want to spar a bit?" He followed her gaze to the open field outside the gates and smiled.

"Why not?" It would be amusing – something to do while they waited. He laughed. Ferelden women were so... They were one kind. It was hard to believe the beauty before him was of Antivan descent, nobody would believe it. He followed her a few paces away from the gate until she stopped in the middle of a dry field. She chose a good spot.

She was a few steps away from him, smiling. He smiled back. _What is she waiting for?_

He felt the wind rush forward before she was by his side. _Damn, she's fast._ He quickly sidestepped her lunge and came up behind her, striking her shoulders with the hilt of his daggers. She tottered forward a little and made a swift comeback with a roundabout stab at his waist which he missed by a hair's breadth.

The exchange lasted a minute or two, and in that timeframe, about twenty or so blows were exchanged. Zevran was surprised she managed to take him on. Before he vanished, he gave her a wink.

Confusion. That's how people usually react when he disappears before them. It was just his style. Stealth. He moved cautiously behind her as she lashed out at the air randomly. "Run away?" she yelled into the air, displaced by his disappearing act. It took a lot of practice and effort to be able to slip out of sight during exchanges, and perhaps she was realizing this now. She kept turning, wary of the invisible opponent that could strike from any direction.

Then he appeared. Right behind her, blowing a short breath of wind on the neck, startling her before catching her in a chokehold. She kicked back on his shins, but he held firm until at last her body sagged in his arms. The sensation was all too familiar and he released her with a shudder. Celes firmed herself to the ground while he regained his cool. When he looked up, she was gone.

"That's right... You play the same game." The only reason she caught him unawares before was because of the rain. _Strange._ The rain did not affect her stealth the way it did his. Celes finally appeared with a quick hit to the back of his neck with the pommel of her dagger. He grunted at the hit and lashed back at her.

It was a fun workout, and Zevran felt his heart pounding blood into his body. She was a fierce one, and very determined not to lose. They would have gone on much longer without a clear victor if Ioren had not shown up shouting, "Stop! Violence is not the answer!" to which Celes threw her head back and laughed cheerily. She left him on the spot and went over to Ioren to explain.

Zevran sheathed his weapons and walked over to the two. "Hello, Ioren," he greeted the priest distractedly, all the while his eyes were trained on Celes. She hardly broke a sweat. "Celes," she looked at him with that 'hm?' she always uses to respond. "Who taught you how to fight?"

"Hm? Why?" She looked at him innocently and Ioren tilted his head sideways at Zevran.

"Your style just reminds me of someone I know."

"Who?"

"A rather feisty young woman from Llomerryn."

"You and your feisty women..." Celes mumbled then said in a clearer tone, "I learned the styles of a duelist from a lady corsair I met in Amaranthine called Isabela." Her hand moved up to massage the nape of her neck. Her movements were so sensuous, Zevran wondered if she realized it herself. She seemed to be a sharp one, but maybe her weakness was in knowing herself. It would definitely be entertaining to affiliate himself to this young lady consul.

He nodded slowly, "Isabela, I see. She certainly gets around." Celes' eyes widened but Zevran cut her off by adding, "How come I did not spot you in the rain?"

"Wha..?"

"That day. When I met you in the square." He prompted her memory.

She clasped her hands together, "Oh, yes. That. I'll explain that another time." She looked meaningfully into his eyes then jerked her head at Ioren. It was obvious the priest was getting restless. It wouldn't hurt to have him wait awhile longer considering he arrived the latest, but that would be petty. And besides, Zevran could wait awhile for his answer. No hurry.

"Very well. Lead on, my lady." He bowed and extended a hand out sideways, letting her move past him, rolling her eyes with a hand to her right temple.

"Come, Ioren." She turned to him and winced at the glaring sun. Zevran followed behind them, keeping pace with the spritely young woman at the head of the threesome.

They journeyed in silence until the sun was about to set. That was when Celes finally said, "I swear, if no one speaks the whole way to Arlathan Forest, I will go mad." It was true, though. It felt as though he was the captured oath-sworn assassin nobody trusted again, with the whole scenario. The silent glances and wary looks, and the way everyone went out of their way to ignore him. Lucky thing Celes was the first to break. The trip was more animated after that.

They stopped to rest that night at a clearing and set up camp. Celes was definitely the one who would be doing the cooking from then on, as she whipped up a delicious stew with the dried meat Ioren brought. The priest polished off the whole pot before Zevran could get a second serving, but it was more because it tasted so good than being hungry that he wanted more, so he could not complain.

Ioren was gulping down the last of the soup when he started choking, and Celes began patting him on the back while Zevran observed her movements. Ioren finally swallowed and took a huge swig from the waterskin he carried with him. Celes breathed a sigh of relief and glared at Zevran. "You could have helped out, you know."

"It was fun to watch." He shrugged at her callously and leaned back to rest on his hands. "So... Our conversation from this afternoon?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment before recalling what he was referring to. She must have a lot on her mind to even briefly forget things that happened on the same day. A good thing he was more carefree.

"Ah... Yes. I suppose you need to know, since we're travelling together now. How do I explain this?" She fell silent for a bit before resuming, "This... skill, was not something I learnt or devised on my own. It was more of a discovery when I was younger." There were occasional pauses in her explanation, as though she was phrasing every sentence before she spoke them. _She's so careful. _

"I discovered a different realm."

* * *

_**A/N: **__I know. I hate myself too. Sorry for the late chapter, guys. But if it's any consolation, I have written a separate one-off on the female dwarf noble and Gorim pairing called "The Fragile Shards" (link on my profile).  
The new semester starts in two days and I'm going back to Melbourne tomorrow so it's been busy. Plus, I made a trip to my grandparent's house in the sticks (no internet! *aghast look*). But I promise the next chapter will be cooler!_


	20. A Skull in the Pack

Did he resent her? No. Maybe. It was hard to say.

Zevran looked to his side where Celes held a cloth over her mouth and was trudging through the sands. The Drylands proved rather a difficult plain to cross by foot. Even with the map, it was a challenge every day to find oases in the vast desert. It turned out that most marks on the map were empty, and oftentimes had they needed to travel additional distances to find a proper resting stop. They wasted daylight and slept little, causing tensions to rise.

"Usually, people with your background grow up to be killers or madmen." Zevran remarked as the sandstorm calmed momentarily before increasing in force.

"Hm. Sorry to disappoint." She coughed and turned back to check on Ioren. The man was brushing sand off his eye patch, tugging it back into position.

It was true, though. The girl grew up with a mother who tattooed the Mark of the Crow on her back, and had to endure the parent's arguing as a young child. She watched her parents die when she was seven, and suffered for years as a maid at the Howe estate. Usually... So, yes. Maybe he did resent her a little.

"You turned out well," he said. _Such beauty... perhaps a seductress?_

Celes looked at his curiously and said, "I'm not so sure about that." He suspected a smile was hidden under that sand-shield cloth. She really was something. So young...

Or maybe he was jealous. Jealous is such an ugly word. He never got jealous, it was just not him. Envious? He would definitely admit it if he admired someone. Someone's skill. And then some.

"_I don't know what it's called. The shadow realm made do in my head in the past."  
"So you can enter a different realm. Like the mages when they enter the Fade?"  
"I don't know."  
"How did you find out?"_

And he really was slightly envious that she was able to spend so much time with Sierra before she...

"_Yes. The Couslands would come visit every Spring and Fall."  
"So you knew Sierra very well?"  
"Lady Cousland was a most sophisticated and refined noblewoman's daughter."  
"I see."_

His fascination never ceased to grow with each sentence that came from the young warden. He wondered if it was a warden thing to be out of norm, then he thought about Alistair, the bastard prince-in-disguise made king_. Perhaps it's just those in Ferelden_... He decided to make a trip to Orlais one of these days.

"Can we stop soon?" Ioren was lagging behind and looked worn out. He had one hand over his eye patch to keep it from flying away and the other over his mouth so to not swallow sand every second. Zevran winced past the wall of flying granules to get a better view and inched close enough to him and Celes to listen to their discussion.

"...soon. We need to find cover." Celes was saying as he approached. Ioren nodded and she looked to Zevran for approval. He nodded as well and they set out to find a place to rest. He let the two people walk in front of him while he looked out for anything they might have missed. That's when he saw something slip out of Ioren's pack.

He trod forward and silently picked up the round item. _What's this now?_ He turned the skull around in his hand and looked at the symbols etched into its surface. He pocketed the skull and decided he would return it to the priest later_._

They trekked for another hour or so until the sandstorm started dying down, and they could almost see the end of the desert in the distance. Almost.

"Is it grey?" Celes came up beside him where he was staring off at the small line of what looked like trees while brushing sand off his armor. They had been travelling for a little less than two weeks and that should be their destination.

"Must be the moonlight." Zevran muttered and turned back to the camp, barely catching Celes mumble to herself softly, "Trees can't be grey, right?"

At camp that night, Ioren was frantic. Zevran relished the sight of the man scurrying about the campsite looking flustered and panicked. He was turning over bags and pieces of stone. He was even sifting through the sand and small tufts of grass by the spring. Zevran yawned as he tired of watching him and returned to his bedroll to examine the loot of the day.

The skull was softly illuminated by the moon's light and he could now examine it closer without the obstruction of sand. He brushed it clean and ran his finger across the tracings in the skull. They did not look like anything he had seen before. Tevinter magicks, no doubt. He was just wondering why the skull was so small when Celes appeared before him, wringing her long black hair which was dripping water droplets on the sand.

"Tsk. My dear Celes, it's rude to not announce yourself before appearing magically before me." She frowned and extended her open palm to him. He placed the skull in her hand and let her run those scrutinizing emerald eyes over them. When she finally spoke, she said, "Where did you get this? It's a child's skull."

Zevran cocked his head at Ioren, who was stomping over to them, nostrils flaring and fists clenched. Considering the man was not armed, Celes seemed to be more lax in her defensive form. "What's the meaning of this, Ioren?" She held out the skull with one hand.

"Where did you get it?" He took a deep breath and calmed significantly. Celes looked at him then at the skull then at Zevran who was looking at her. He sighed and stood, "I almost tripped over this in the sandstorm. I'm assuming this is what you were looking for?" He smiled smugly at Ioren, who blanched in between avoiding his eye and Celes' glare and staring at his precious skull.

"Can I please have it back?" He held out his hand in defeat, like a beggar. Celes sighed and placed the skull in his hands where he cradled it with a painful expression. "I suppose... I should explain myself."

"What? Nooo. Of course not." Zevran laughed and Celes glared at him. She looked back at Ioren and said, "Please do."

He nodded and ran a finger over the top of the skull gently before carefully returning it to his pack. "My boy..." He started, and gulped, pausing to regain control of his wavering voice before continuing, "He- he died when he was only five." Zevran masked his surprise at the priest, who was supposed to be chaste, having a son. Celes' expression was unreadable, she just stood and listened.

Ioren told about how he hired an apostate to attempt some form of communication with his son. He was found wandering the Fade in search of his father. The mage mentioned something of an unclean death causing his spirit to wander and sealed it into the skull for him. It was during the ritual that they were discovered and the apostate slaughtered and Ioren escaped. He said, "My son... speaks to me. I only... I only wish to see him again. He says I need to find Andraste's descendant. She's his only hope."

Zevran and Celes exchanged glances and he could tell that her thoughts were akin to his. _He's crazy._ But her eyes had a certain softness that was not in his own. He sighed and left her to make the call.

She placed a hand on Ioren's shoulder – the man had been focusing his gaze on the sandy floor for awhile now – causing him to jerk upwards. He looked into her eyes and her chest heaved as she sighed and said, "I'm sorry for your loss." Zevran expected this.

In her eyes, Ioren would always be the priest who called out for help. Not the priest with secrets and lies. Not the man who almost got her killed, but the man who she needed to protect. On the other hand, Zevran would always be the man who was watching her in the rain. The stalker. Not the man who rescued her from the Escort Manse, but someone she was wary of. He felt it in her glare and the way she spoke to him. Knowing this, he still would try to change her opinion. He couldn't have such a beautiful young woman thinking ill of him now. _Forever the optimist. _

Ioren broke under her understanding, nodded his appreciation and returned to his tent. Zevran looked on. He might have thought the years of being an assassin would have made him a cold man, but alas, it did not come easily. "This goes against my better judgment..." Zevran muttered to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair and said, "Be careful."

Celes nodded. "I know," and she hung her head and pressed her thumb and index finger on her temples, massaging them slowly. He could do that much better. "Go to bed, Zevran. It'll be an early day tomorrow."

She was right. They rose at the break of dawn the next morning to make up for the lost time the day before and managed to arrive at the South eastern edge of the Arlathan forest close to nightfall.

"It _is_ grey." Celes looked up at the dense foliage that stood before them.

"This is... incredible." Ioren stood in awe with his jaw hanging open. Zevran simply kept his thoughts to himself, and looked around for any sign of life around. The forest seemed to be breathing on its own, which was slightly unnerving. He thought he heard a soft hoot, but the rustling of the leaves blown by the wind was too scratchy for him to be sure. He walked towards one of the Betula trees but was deflected back by an invisible barrier.

He touched the spot where he bumped into the barrier and the spot rippled, the same way a water's surface would if disturbed. Ioren came up beside him and did the same, and responded in 'ooh's and 'ahh's_. _Zevran shook his head at him, "Looks like you were wrong about a way in."

Celes walked toward them and said, "What's wrong?"

Zevran made a sweeping motion with his arm and said, "It looks as though we are barred entry from the forest, fair warden."

"Try to stop calling me that, if you would. My being a warden was supposed to be a secret." Her hand reached up intuitively for her necklace and back to her side. "Now what do you mean by 'barred entry'?" Ioren quickly stepped up and showed Celes the barrier and the disturbance. "Think we could hack through it?" she asked.

"That would not be advisable." Zevran said, crossing his arms. "There have been tales about the forest defending itself. I know not if these tales are true, of course, but best not take too many chances. I suggest we scale the forest and see if there is another entrance."

Celes looked to Ioren, who gave her a blank look. She rolled her eyes and turned to him, "All right, Zevran. That's as good a plan as any considering our current circumstance. Let's go, then." He nodded and followed her as they made their way around the forest edge, testing the barrier every few steps.

It came to a point where Zevran heard hooting again, and he halted in his steps.

"Why are you stopping? Did you see something?" Celes turned around and asked.

Zevran held up a hand and his forefinger to his lips, shushing her. Ioren looked at her nervously and she patted his shoulder, calming him. _Like a puppy, _Zevran thought. The hooting did not repeat and Zevran allowed himself to relax a little more, and said, "I heard something."

Celes nodded seriously and they continued onward. Celes seemed bothered about something, he observed. She kept looking left and right as though imaginary predators would appear at any time, or expecting an attack. Something was bothering her, but he did not know what. She was also massaging her forehead, which was aching often. He was about to ask her about it when she suddenly kneeled down and pressed a hand against the barrier.

"What...? Oh." he started to ask when he saw it. Bodies. Fresh human bodies, torn apart and left to rot on the inside of the barrier. Judging by the state of the flesh, Zevran estimated that they were probably a few days old, which meant... "There must be an entrance somewhere. It could be nearby."

Ioren looked from Celes' focused expression to Zevran's nonchalant appearance, and said, "Shouldn't you both be more concerned that there are _dead_ bodies inside?"

"Shut up, Ioren." Celes said, and Zevran agreed. It couldn't be more concerning than a man who carried skulls around in his pack. Celes went back to examining the site where the bodies were strewn, and after awhile, exclaimed in surprise, which caused Zevran to look over.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I just saw a squirrel." She pointed to the ground in the forest, where a tuft of leaves were resting under the bodies.

"What? There are no squirrels in the north, much less in this dead forest." Ioren said. Zevran looked at the trees. The priest was right. The bark was peeling off and whitish in colour. And the leaves were grey, seemingly its natural colour or coated in something that made it seem that way. Leaves that die don't turn white, and yet, the whole forest seemed alive. The trees felt vibrant. One might not be able to tell by appearance, but standing near it, it was almost as if the forest was pulsating. However, it would be strange to find any animals, especially squirrels, in this forest, since it must have been uninhabited for over two millennia.

"So this was the original elvhen homeland." Celes had stood and was now looking around the sides of the forest. Zevran watched her, and for the first time saw the depth of importance she placed on her fantasized Dalish heritage. Her eyes seemed to shine, just being close to the forest. It was as though she lived for this moment, just being close to the homeland of those she believed to be her ancestors. It was almost touching to watch, taking into account that she might not even be half-elven, or Dalish. He wondered how he felt about it all. Ambivalent, perhaps. Zevran considered himself an Antivan before being elven, but he had once wished to join the clans of nomadic elves – The keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lone path. _Ah, those childhood fantasies._ His mother was a Dalish, so this must be his ancestors' home as well, but somehow he found it difficult drumming up enthusiasm for much lately.

"You know," Celes turned to the men, "From what I heard, the Tevinter magisters used their magic to split the very earth beneath our feet and swallowed the mighty Arlathan whole before sealing it under the ground, never to rise again." She waved her hands in the air for the swallowing motion with such energy that Zevran couldn't help grinning at her. He noticed Ioren was smiling as well.

"What? Stop smiling at me like that. It's creepy. Give me the map, Ioren." She grabbed the map Ioren proffered her and said, "Besides, the fall of Arlathan is a sad event. You should both be crying!"

Zevran was smirking the whole way through, which made her wave the map in his face while talking.

He started to say, "Will you hold me while I cry?" When, out of nowhere, a white bird – an owl – swooped down and grabbed the map with its talons. Zevran heard the paper tear shortly before Celes released it and the owl flew away.

"Ah! Come back here!" Celes turned and began to chase the owl as it flew further and further away from them. Zevran shouted, "Wait!" But she was too far away to hear him. _First, a squirrel; now, an owl?_

Wasting no time, he and Ioren made haste and ran after Celes. The forest edge turned and Celes disappeared from view for a moment. When Zevran turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of Celes before her body disappeared into the forest, past the barrier.

Stunned for a moment, he walked up slowly to where she vanished. The invisible barrier was emitting a low hum at that spot and undulating slightly, distorting the image of the forest beyond it. He looked past the force field, but the young warden was nowhere to be seen.


	21. Ath'tirian

_Sparkly… Sparkle…_ "Ha," Celes could not help but stand in amazement at the sight before her. _She's so… pretty…_

She chased the owl all the way from the entrance of the woods until she realized her companions were no longer with her. "Oh..." Celes slowed her paced slightly before stopping. She looked around to find herself surrounded by giant Betula and Oak trees that reached for the sky. Zevran and Ioren were nowhere to be found. _Oops._

"Ioren!" She shouted. "Zevran!" _Argh._ Celes looked up to find the owl hooting atop the branch of an oak tree, taunting her with the map in its tiny talons. "You're going down, birdy!" She pointed at the owl and threatened it, causing it to take flight again. "Hey, wait!"

Celes gave chase again. It was as though the owl slowed its pace to match hers, or it was deliberately waiting for her. When it finally slowed, it landed on a perch. Except it wasn't a perch. When Celes stopped panting and straightened up, she saw the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes upon.

The owl was perched on the slender arm of a fair-skinned lady. She was tall, much taller than Celes, and perhaps even Ioren, and exuded elegance. Her hair shimmered brilliantly in the rays of the sun that peeked through the gaps in the forest ceiling. Her locks had a shallow lavender sheen with hints of powdery blue when it shifted. She donned tattered grey robes that hung loosely on her body, held in place by white bandages that did a good job accentuating her curves. Her hands were bound in bandages up to her elbows and strips of bandage were used to tie up her long hair into a single knotted tail down the side of her shoulder. Even with the tattered clothing, she managed to take on a polished countenance in the middle of the nitid forest.

The woman in white raised her other arm to smooth the owl's ruffled feathers and thanked it. She took the map from its talons and raised her arm where it was perched signaling for it to leave. The owl took flight with a loud flutter, raising a small gust which blew around the fallen leaves. When the bird was gone, the woman turned to face Celes, eye to eye.

"Greetings, Grey Warden." Her voice was gentle and calm, like the tone of a person avoiding strife – a mediator.

Celes gawked at her a little more before saying, "Ah… A pleasure, I'm sure. Who are you? How do you know I am a Grey Warden?"

"All answers in time." Now that she spoke again, her voice seemed somewhat hollow, as though the woman was not quite there. "How odd. Where are your travelling companions?"

_Ugh…_ "It's not my fault they were too slow." Celes sat on a big rock that jutted out in the clearing and clutched her head. It had been hurting more and more, the closer they got to the forest, it seemed. Her nightmares that were supposed to have decreased in frequency had returned as well. She massaged her temples and looked up. Her ears picked up the sound of footsteps and the squishing of trodden leaves.

Celes got up from her rock and cupped her hands around the side of her mouth and yelled, "Ioren! Zevran!"

The woman stood swiftly, and produced a sword hilt from her belt that had no blade. She seemed to draw on an unknown energy source and ran her hand down the hilt and a long silvery-blue blade materialized – the same way healing magic knitted flesh together. The blue steel singed as it cut through the wind and the woman approached her, a grim smile on her face.

Celes backed away slowly, her hands reached for the daggers at her side.

* * *

_That woman is a lot of trouble._

Tiny blades of splinters flew everywhere as Zevran brought the machete down upon the grey foliage that stood in their path. A good thing Celes had the sense to buy a proper machete for cutting out a path in the forest. He trudged ahead of the grey woods, letting Ioren stumble over himself behind him. However, he did occasionally look back to check on the man. He didn't want to be thought of as heartless.

Zevran thought he was done with casuistry, but there was something about the ex-reverend that nagged on his senses. A subtle breeze blew at Zevran's blond mane, carrying with it a familiar call.

"It's the young miss!" Ioren began to run in the direction of the voice and Zevran shook his head. The man was going to get himself killed, acting so foolishly.

His arrow pierced the hurlock's chest before the priest even knew it was upon him. Terrible habit of his - cheating darkspawn out of victims. He had enough time to yell out a warning before he was dodging a mace that came from behind him. As he lacerated the creature through the folds of its armor, he noted figures appearing on his right and Ioren taking on another shorter darkspawn that was readying to flank him on the left. He dodged a blow meant to decapitate him and did exactly that to his opponent and hurried to the aid of the priest. Ioren pulled out the plated knuckles that had since spawned spikes at the end, and was crushing the armor of his adversary. Zevran joined him and together they managed to wear down the massive darkspawn before it suddenly collapsed before them.

Zevran whipped his head around to find Celes standing beside a woman whose arm was rapidly healing and whom Ioren was gawking at. She was a sight in the forest, an ethereal-like woman in white blending into the grayish surroundings perfectly. She held a bloodied silvery blue sword; its blade suddenly dissipated, leaving the hilt, which she then attached to the belt by her waist. Nothing much surprised him anymore. But it was strange that darkspawn would be present in the Arlathan Forest.

His eyes searched her appearance warily, while she turned and started to walk in the opposite direction. Ioren dashed after her yelling, "Wait!" and Zevran was beside Celes in a heartbeat. "So, I see you have found an arcane warrior."

Celes gave him a rushed explanation, and turned to the darkspawn corpses on the ground and asked, "What manner of darkspawn are these?" She nudged one of them with her foot and turned it over to examine its front. Among the bodies, there were an array of genlocks and shrieks. But the one Celes was prodding were one of the two darkspawn which stood out; better-armored then the rest, they were putrid creatures that festered in their underground dens for decades before ever seeing combat.

"Ancient darkspawn, I assume. Seems to be a genlock, though I could be wrong. I have only ever seen one before, in the Deep Trenches." Zevran ran his eyes over the dead darkspawn. There was something different about it, but he could not place it. Perhaps it was a new variation of some sort. After all, they used to encounter new types of darkspawn every other day in the past. "We should go after Ioren." Zevran raised his brow a notch and cocked his head towards the trees where Ioren and the woman disappeared. Celes looked up briefly from where she was crouching over the darkspawn body and nodded. She quickly shifted through the scattered bodies, picking up any items of use and they made their way through the ashen trees of the forest.

"Valeria… Sounds Antivan." Zevran remarked.

"Valeria Skye. I am not Antivan, though I was indeed born there." The woman in white – Valeria – said, while smoothing out her robes. _How does that work? Born in Antiva but not Antivan._

Celes looked at the woman who claimed to be Andraste's descendant and was wondering whether or not to believe her when something soft landed on her nose. "Oh," Celes dusted off a powdery substance from her face when more started to fall. "Ash?" She rubbed the grey ashes between her fingers as the ash-fall stopped as soon as it began. When she looked up from her fingers, she saw Valeria staring straight at her.

"Eh… Yes?" All this staring was becoming uncomfortable. Valeria stood and walked over to the rock where Celes was sitting and stopped so close to her it was just strange. "Valeria…"

"What did they say?" Valeria stooped and with her bandaged hands, swept across the ground to catch the particles of ashes at the tip of her fingers. She looked from the ashes to Celes expectantly.

"What are you talking about?" Celes was puzzled by her question, her origins, her mannerism… Her everything. _She's crazier than Ioren._ She looked behind Valeria at Zevran who shrugged a 'you-deal-with-it' and Ioren who was shooting adoring looks at Valeria. She shook her head and looked back at a staid Valeria.

"The spirits. What did they say?" She moved closer until her face was just inches away from Celes'.

"Personal space, Valeria." Celes slid backwards on her rock and said, "I really have absolutely _no_ idea what you are going on about."

"You really do not know…" Valeria's eyes widened slightly and she withdrew. Standing straight, she turned and started muttering to herself for a bit. Celes took the time to get back up and ask, "Zevran, is the weather in the northern parts normally this strange?" _The people, too._

"I'm not sure what you are referring to," he turned to her, away from the doe-eyed priest.

"The maelstroms, high tides, rain, ash-falls… The whole lot." Celes waved a hand in the air expressing her point.

Zevran bent forward and answered, "It rains often in Antiva, you see. So that is not so abnormal. However, the maelstrom you encountered… The locals nicknamed it the Baldur's Eye. It appeared a few days before I found you wandering the square, I believe. Never before was there a maelstrom around Rialto Bay, so it had the locals rather wound up, you could say. It also disrupted the fishing community so it would be difficult to go unnoticed. Ash-fall, on the other hand- "

A soft voice came out of nowhere. "Please, be silent." Valeria interjected and they fell into an awkward silence, all the while waiting for her permission to speak. It was better to be cooperative in such situations when faced with strange woman claiming to be related to the Maker's Chosen. Celes brushed some ash off her dark hair. There were a few more moments of Valeria staring into space in silence until she spoke. When she did, she said, "They say you can do it. Unite the relics. And so you shall aid me."

"They? They who? What relics?"

"The spirits. They say you are capable. So will you join me?" Valeria answered in her ever so calm and _hollow_ tone.

"Help her!" Ioren urged Celes straightaway.

Celes ignored him. "Tell me more about these relics you speak of."

"The Holy Relics of the Ath'tirian."

"The Athrian?"

"Ath'tirian. Merely a name for the Three. The Maker, the Creators and the First Paragon." Celes struggled to keep the questions at bay while Valeria explained. "First, there was the Feud. The Feud of the Gods. The Ath'tirian were at peace once. Before the Maker's children desecrated the Creators' work and rejected the Children of the Stone. It was then that the Forsaken Gods sought to usurp heaven and tainted it with their darkness. It was then the dream-walkers despaired, for they saw. They saw the Golden City corrupted. That is when the first of the darkspawn appeared. Shortly after, the Maker's Chosen, my antecedent, the 'prophet' Andraste, rose to power. The Chantry calls her the Maker's bride. This is a lie. Even though she was a messenger of the Maker, she later discovered the treachery among the Gods and secretly crafted the Relics in hopes of reuniting the feuding Ath'tirian. When the Maker discovered her betrayal, He turned His children against her and thus Andraste was sacrificed. At the same time, the Chantry was formed and the Maker was revered; denouncing all other religion. The Maker triumphed and the relics were then scattered without a trace, until now. We, the blood descendants of Andraste, have tried to spread this story in hopes of finding the holy artefacts. But the Chantry cried heresy and one by one my predecessors were executed…"

So many questions… And Valeria kind of lost her somewhere in the middle, but Celes put aside the questions momentarily and for lack of better responses, said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," replied she, "Help me avenge them by exposing the truth about the Chantry. That the Maker is not their only God, that they can no longer maintain this false dominance and repression against others. Please."

Celes hesitated a moment and looked to her companions. Ioren was crying – _sappy old man – _so she turned to Zevran. "What do you think?"

Zevran looked a little surprised that she asked for his opinion; as though it was something he was unaccustomed to. He tilted his head a little and folded his arms across his chest, then turned to Valeria and said, "Why should we aid you on this presumably dangerous, life-threatening quest?"

Valeria might have pondered the question for a fragment of a second before turning to Celes and saying, "You bear the taint."

"What? What kind of a reason is that?" Celes asked in disbelief.

"It seems darkspawn tend to converge where the relics are held. I know not the reason why, but it surely is something worth investigating to you. Am I not correct?"

Zevran commented, "Seemingly new forms of darkspawn, too."

Celes sighed and hung her head. She thought back to what Alistair said about her post and allegiance to the crown instead of the Grey Wardens. She really couldn't care less. _Sod the consequences. I'll do what I think is right._ Converging darkspawn would mean lives in danger, and she saw what darkspawn did to the countryside and to the people. There were scores to settle, and this would do just fine.

"Very well."

"Really?" Zevran stared at her. Ioren looked as though he was about to jump in joy at her agreement, smiling like an idiot. He was glancing quickly between her and Valeria, unsure of who to pore over with his gaze.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. It's not as though you did not expect me to agree in the first place." She waved Zevran off and looked to Valeria. "What now, then?"

Valeria let slip a thin smile, and said, "Now we follow the dreams."

"Not Zevran's, I hope." Celes stole a quick glance at the smirking elf at the mention of dreams and found Valeria, _again, _staring straight at her with that 'no fooling around' expression she wore so well. "Not mine, either!" Celes backed into a tree, away from Valeria. "I don't get good dreams."

"You don't hear them…" Valeria started spouting that nonsense about spirits and dreams and connections to this and that, all of which made no sense at all to Celes. '_Why me?' is now my favourite question._

"All right, I give in. We'll do what you want." _If only to stop your talking_.

With that, Valeria extracted all she could about Celes' recent dreams and said, "We will follow the darkspawn trail."

Ioren exclaimed, "Fantastic!" which somehow showed he was not concentrating on what was being said, but more on the mysterious woman who in his mind was the only way he could get his son back.

Zevran laughed and said, "Fun."

"Right…" _I'm travelling with a bunch of crazies._ "Let's go, then. We'll backtrack to where the darkspawn appeared and look for signs of others."

The forest was massive. But surely enough, they found scores of darkspawn scattered throughout the place. Ioren mapped out what he could of the forest, including various sites they found. Such as the one where many trees clumped together that they looked like they were bound together by ropes. Valeria said that the elves who died in Arlathan grew into trees that now form the Arlathan forest. Celes wasn't sure if she believed that.

When they seemed to near the middle of the forest, Valeria asked, "What do you know of the fall of Arlathan?"

"Only that the elves believed they were forsaken by their Gods and that was when the Tevinter Imperium striked. Not much." Celes was looking warily at the trees after they were attacked by a few of the thinner graying charred-looking ones. Zevran called them Sylvans, but she didn't care, as long as they could be killed like any other creature.

"That is… an incomplete account of the fall of Arlathan." Valeria commented on Celes' lack of knowledge regarding Arlathan's history.

Zevran chipped in, "The Dalish keepers guard their lore closely. I believe it has some relation to the fall of the Elven Pantheon."

It was always interesting to hear more about elven history, and Celes did not have much of a chance to learn, living in a human city, so she listened closely when Valeria began her history lesson.

"I assume you would not be as ignorant as not to know of the quickening – the reason the elves lost their immortality." No one spoke up, so she continued, "The elves believed us humans were the source of their quickening and retreated deep into their homes in the forest. They believed this would appease the spirits and allow them to reclaim their long lives. However, the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium saw this as a sign of hostility, or the elves would claim that they were merely seeking to expand their borders, and invaded Arlathan. They turned the knowledge learned from the elven dreamwalkers against them. However, your elven companion is also partially correct. It seemed nearly impossible for the once ageless elves to lose to an army whose weapon originated from their own. The elves believe that they were forsaken by their gods, the Creators, when the Tevinter Imperium invaded."

As she finished the last sentence, they approached a line of dead trees that seemed blown to the ground, for they were laying flat. Celes looked at them with naked curiosity and saw that what lay before them was a circular grove, collapsed statues filled the clearing that was surrounded by trees that seemed to have collapsed outwards from it.

"How ominous," Celes said, looking at the condition of the fallen trees. They moved toward the center where most of the statues lay dormant, covered in dead leaves that did not rot.

"This looks like an area of worship." Ioren touched one of the fallen statues and all of a sudden, the ground opened up beneath them. And they fell.

"Ow…"

It was dark. And Celes had landed on something that was poking into her ribs.

"I could use some help here, if you are not too busy." Zevran's voice came from somewhere in front of her, and his voice echoed through the hollow space around them.

"Coming," she replied.

"Wait." Celes halted. "Come, but be careful. Don't fall in." Celes' eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness as she inched closer to where his voice came from and grabbed at the darkness. Suddenly, she felt a hand grab hers and pull hard, causing her to instinctively pull away. But when she did, whatever was on the other end fell forward and collapsed on top of her.

She felt a pair of hands on her breasts and yelped, scrambling away.

"You're rather strong, for a young lady."

"You!" Celes picked up the nearest object and threw it at the direction of the voice.

"Hey! Hey, no need to throw things." Zevran came up to her and held her hand still. "These skulls can leave pretty nasty bruises. Wouldn't want that to happen now, would we?"

Celes growled and pulled her hand away. "What happened to you? Where are the others?"

Zevran exhaled and said, "I don't know if you've noticed, my dear Celes, but you saved me from falling into a pit of who-knows-what. And knowing ruins, I would rather not have fallen in. As for the others, it seems Ioren passed out and Valeria might have wandered off somewhere. She is rather mysterious, no?"

"Tell me about it. Wait… Shouldn't there be sunlight, if we fell from the surface? It was about late afternoon when we got to the site." Celes looked up in attempt to see the ceiling but only saw a wide spread of black and black.

"The ground might have closed back up," Zevran suggested.

"We need to find another way out, then." Celes said, as they heard a soft groaning coming from the opposite side of the room. "Ioren?"

"I think so." Zevran stood and Celes followed.

Suddenly, a light came on at the far end of the room where there was a small hallway leading out. Celes looked and saw Valeria coming towards them. "You could have lit up the room earlier, you know." She received no reply as Valeria confirmed she was living and uninjured and started walking to Ioren.

Celes looked around the geometrical nightmare of a room. It seemed to be round on one end and jutted out in a few places on the other. The ceiling was a mess of roots and dirt that fell little by little with each step taken, and the metal edges of the walls were corroded and rusty. She looked at where she landed and shuddered when she found a skull and some bones scattered around it. _Did I land on a skeleton?_

In the center of the room was a semi-large pit that looked deep from where she was standing. As she neared it, she found upward-facing spikes lacing the bottom of the pit with the odd bone and skull wedged in between them. Zevran popped up beside her, and chirped, "Looks like this is what you saved me from, my dear. You have my thanks."

"You're welcome." Celes acknowledged him as Valeria spoke up.

"Miss Celes."

_Oh dear, now she calls me miss._ "Err… Yes?"

"I've found an antechamber that leads to a room filled with altars. We should head there once the priest is ready."

"Right." Valeria headed off to the next room to, Celes guessed, light the rest of the torches. Celes turned to Zevran and whispered conspiratorially, "Is it just me, or does it seem like Valeria only talks to…" She pointed at her chest, meaning herself.

"Yes, _Miss Celes_. I am 'the elf' and Ioren is 'the priest', it seems." He smiled cheerily.

"Hm." Celes grunted and turned to Ioren. The man was up already, it seemed, after some help from Miss Skye. He was feeling around the inside of his pack, presumably to check if all his precious belongings were there. When he was satisfied, he looked up and jolted at the sight of Celes standing over him like a hawk eyeing its prey. "Hello. Shall we go?" Celes held out a hand, which he took, and pulled him up.

"Yes, lets." He brushed the dirt off his clothing and followed Celes and Zevran down the hallway to where the mage stood waiting for them. They made their way down the winding corridor lined with torches lit by embers, and finally arrived in a small room.

"This must be the antechamber you spoke of." Celes directed the comment at Valeria, who nodded and walked to the double doors beside the pillars. There were engravings around the edge of each side which were faded and marred after millennia of neglect. There was a small section of the handles which looked like gold, which must have been scratched off by Valeria when she came to investigate. She placed a hand on the handle and shortly after, released her hold. "Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. Betrayer…" She turned to face Celes.

"Who?" Celes' brows knitted together in confusion.

"The Creators did not forsake the elves. They were betrayed and sealed away by one of their own."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ "Hey! Why did it take so long for you to update?" I can explain. Lol. I've been pretty much packing up and moving back to Australia for the new study term and I'm in my 2__nd__ week now, which explains a lot. Plus, this being my 2__nd__ year, I'll have a lot more studies to do. Gah!  
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I know I've twisted around the Chantry's ideologies, but this is part of this story's plot. So… Yea. Leave me a review letting me know what you think. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Are you like, "WHY DID YOU CHANGE SO MUCH?"~ If anyone is interested, I rant about stuff like this on my blog after each chapter is uploaded._

_Yea. Val is an airhead. XD sorta._


	22. Dogs and Gods

The interior of the hall was solid gold, though that which lined the walls and the gold that made up the statues littered around the hall had different properties. After experimentally prodding a statue, Celes was surprised to find it lighter than it should have been. She was no rich person, but she worked for the wealthy. She polished solid gold bars owned by the Arl before, and she knew that a statue of that size in gold would be near three times her own weight. However, it could be moved easily and weighed as much as a young child.

That was not the only thing that intrigued her about the room. Even though it was presumably left vacant for millennia, after the elves were enslaved by the Tevinter Imperium, the room did not look like it was ransacked and looted after the war. It seemed almost as if it were laid out that way. _Intriguing, but strange._

Her companions were scattered around the huge hall. Zevran was running his fingers over the walls, admiring them silently. Ioren was pacing around the altars built into the two sides of the room, recording the inscriptions written on them in the old elvhen language. Valeria was at the end of the hall where a small set of steps led up to a dais on top of which stood a magnificent altar adorned with gemstones. The altar stood taller than the others in the room and had liquid silver patterns running through its length. _I wonder what substance that is._

She counted the statues on the floor, there were twelve altogether. Celes was dusting off the one that held a trident and donned robes when Valeria started to speak.

"We need to restore the statues to their original altars."

It seemed like a reasonable thing to do, since they were already there. Looking around once more, she noticed the number of altars on either sides of the room differed. There were eight altars on the right which were slightly taller and each altar had symbols drawn with emeralds in them; while the three on the left had indentations filled with garnets.

"Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris. The Forgotten Ones."

The three ominous looking statues with faces that snarled and depicted pain went onto the altars on the left. Zevran, Ioren and Celes each carried one statue and placed them on their respective pedestals. As each idol was placed onto its original setting, white apparitions appeared behind them, wavering in the air; the depiction of restless spirits.

Valeria then helped them place the various other statues onto their altars on the right side of the room. They were arranged in the order of Elgar'nan, Mythal, Falon'Din, Andruil, Dirthamen, June, Sylaise, and Ghilan'nain. There were subtle hints to their placement which Celes did not notice until pointed out by Ioren. He showed her the remains of offerings that might have been placed there recently. A small bowl of ashes, a crystal filled with a fading light, tattered cloth that resembled the texture of silk, a rust-coated arrowhead, a lone feather, a small piece of bark, small shoots of unrecognizable root, and the horn of an unknown creature. There was much they did not know about the elvhen lore and could only speculate whereas Zevran and Valeria knew what they did not, and guided them through the placements.

In the end, all that was left was a statue of a dog – it seemed – that had white streaks running down its forehead like the kaddis on a mabari. Valeria looked upon it with a sort of reverence before muttering something to herself and placing a hand on the gold hound's forehead.

"This… belongs there." She turned away from the statue and pointed at the altar where she was standing by earlier at the end of the hall. _So this is the centrepiece. _

"Are you alright, Valeria?" Celes examined the woman's face and found she paled much in comparison moments ago, though she still denoted minimal expression.

"I fear they are right," she replied cryptically.

Celes covered a yawn and nodded, failing to comprehend her meaning. Nevertheless, she proceeded to move the dog's statue to the middle altar. When she finally set it atop the embellished altar, she took a step back to admire its composition. Her admiration took pause when seconds later, there was a cry that came from behind them.

"Shemlen!" Celes turned and saw all her companions looking back at an elderly man who was hunched over and wrinkled, pointing a bony finger at them and spouting nonsense she did not understand. However, his tone was recognizable. He was clearly infuriated by their presence and probably was cursing at them for some reason or another.

It took her a while to realize he was speaking the language of the elves she thought were lost to elvhenan. _An elf._ She did not understand, however, and only caught the first word she heard whispered –often accompanied by looks of hostility – throughout the streets of the Alienage during the time she visited.

The old time-wasted elf finally sensed their confusion and slowly, but steadily controlling his emotions, began to speak in their tongue. "You... should not... be here." After gathering himself, he surveyed the room again and his eyes widened, and an expression akin to fear overtook his features. "What... have you... done?" His finger pointed accusingly at the baffled group, Celes included.

Coming to her senses, Celes jolted and said, "Sorry, sorry... We should... go." She began walking up to Zevran to push him forward. That was when she heard a booming voice echo around the room. No, not echo. It seemed to come from all around them, enveloping their surroundings. The twin doors slammed shut behind the elf and the sorrow in his eyes bore into Celes' soul, making her cringe. She bit down on her lip and heard Ioren say, "Uh oh."

"For Ages, I Was Confined. A Captive... In My Own Personal Prison. But Now, I. Am. Free."

"Where is that coming from?" Ioren's lips trembled as he looked to the ceiling, trying to discern the origin of the voice.

Valeria calmed him merely by placing a hand on his shoulder, but it seemed as though he went into a trancelike state, as his eyes glazed over; though it might have just been Celes' imagination.

The old elf stepped toward the altar beside Celes and held his hand up, palm facing towards the statue of Fen'Harel. He shouted, "Manifest yourself!"

The hall shook. _Anger_. Celes felt anger emanating from the spirit, or whatever it was that was in the room with them at that time.

"You Dare Command Me?"

The apparitions that floated behind the altars licked the walls in their journey to the central altar. The vines of white entwined around the statue of Fen'Harel until suddenly, cracks appeared on its surface. As it did, the cracks fell and revealed something living within. The majestic and proud wolf, with bright tan fur that rippled down its body stood atop the altar and glared down upon them, as if graced by an unworthy audience. Celes drew her weapons discreetly, as did Zevran. Ioren was staring in awe and wonder, while Valeria's face was downcast.

The wolf snarled, and as it did, the old elf greeted it with a bolt of magic to the chest which dissipated before it hit its mark, reflected by a barrier similar to the one surrounding the forest. "Aislin," the Dread Wolf addressed the elf, "Hostility Should Cease In The Presence Of Guests." It turned to the elf – Aislin – and slowly opened its jaws in a stretching motion and turned its head sideways, and bit down to close them. This extracted a sharp cry of agony from Aislin, who fell to his knees, clutching his left thigh. Blood trickled down his clothing and pooled beneath him. Where his hands pressed to stem the blood, it seemed the wolf had transcended space and ripped flesh and bone.

Celes' instincts bade her to move a step back, but when she tried, she realized she was held in place by an unknown force. "Damn," she tried harder to lift her leg from the spot she stood to no avail, and turned to the Dread Wolf and said, "Is this your doing?"

"Such Hostility." It leapt off the altar and circled Zevran and Ioren, then moved closer to Celes and offered, "Come, Let Us Talk. It Has Been Too Long..."

This time, Valeria spoke up. "Give us the relic, Fen'Harel." The wolf turned to her, and bared its teeth. But she was unphased. "Now."

In its rage, the wolf lost concentration, and Celes and her companions were freed from their leg-holds. Drawing on her weapons, she charged at the wolf only to miss when it vanished and appeared back at the altar.

"You Are Casting Away Salvation," it growled to Valeria.

"Salvation?"

_Kill the dread wolf, and harvest the relic. _Celes heard a soft voice in her head, instructing her. At that moment, she spotted ashes gathering behind Fen'Harel, that formed a looming figure over it. She saw Valeria shoot her an intense glare before shouting, "Do it! Do it now!"

Everything appeared to move in slow motion. The ashes behind the wolf enveloped its body and it let loose a deafening growl that reverberated against the walls of the hollow room. The sounds hit her like waves, stunning her. Celes saw Valeria draw her blade hilt and Zevran zooming forward from behind her. Ioren was fondling for something in his pack while Aislin seemed to have lost consciousness from blood loss. As Zevran stepped beside her, she regained her senses and raised the violet blade to her chest and lunged forward, though she did not quite understand why she felt compelled to do as the voices told.

When they reached within combat range of the wolf, the ashes disappeared and Celes leapt forward and buried both her daggers in its back, dragging them down to leave a large gash through its fur. Zevran was lashing out at its sides while Valeria chanted a few words which made the wolf howl in agony. It snapped at her and occasionally successfully bit her arms which were striking out with her blade. However, the bites did not leave wounds that bled; rather, Valeria winced at the bites but outwardly showed no evidence of being wounded. She seemed to fatigue rapidly through the battle.

Fen'Harel scarred Zevran rather badly, since he was striking from the front but turned to jump on Celes. At this moment, Celes felt a barrier erect itself around her, and Valeria collapsed on her blade momentarily before standing back up again. Her companions were weakening, and they were becoming vulnerable to attacks. Celes tried to lift her arms but could not, but the wolf continued charging at her, enraged by its failure to break through. It seemed she was held in place but protected, which comforted her somewhat, but made her uneasy. She could do naught but watch while the wolf clawed at the force field around her and her companions nicked away at its skin.

As the barrier shattered, Celes stabbed the wolf in the throat when it charged for her then vanished into the shadows, confusing it momentarily. Taking opportunity of this advantage, Zevran opened up a larger hole in its throat by forcefully mounting it and wrapping his arms around its neck to dig his daggers into its throat where Celes initially cut open. He jerked the weapons upward, cutting through the tender tendons around its neck. As he did, Celes slid beneath it and gutted the wolf's belly. Just as she sank her blade into its underbelly, the wolf's skeleton flashed twice and it collapsed, limp, onto her body.

"Argh!" Celes grunted when the full weight of the giant wolf crashed atop her, blowing the wind out of her lungs.

When she was beginning to gasp for air, the giant wolf seemed to lift. Or rather, it ceased to be, as it returned to its stone-cold form and the white veins of mist seeped back to their original altars. Then, the wolf was no longer there, and the voices in her head were silent. She felt ill, which was probably the after-effect of the intense battle the preceded it, but she clambered to her feet with Zevran's help. However, he was focusing on something else – Ioren.

For some reason, both Valeria and Zevran were looking at Ioren warily, but Celes couldn't care less at that moment for the apparitions at the altars were taking form, forms of lean figures wearing various articles of clothing and armor, carrying multitudes of different weapons and accessories – the forms of the statues. The gold figures were given the breath of the living, and shimmered brilliantly and dimmed before Celes' eyes were able to withstand the glow. Nearby, Aislin was looking on with reverence.

"What's going on?" Celes asked.

Her question was ignored by all except Valeria, who backed up against her because Andruil's form was moving towards her. "The Gods."

"Thank You For Freeing Us." Andruil's fingertips touched her skin and her scars healed and there was a soft white glow lingering on her skin when she withdrew. "You Need To Find The Others."

"Where?" Celes asked, but her question was unheard.

"Take The Relic, And Leave This Place." The figure of Elgar'nan was looming above her. He was much taller than your typical elf, being their God, and had a muscular physique, as usually expected from one who caused so much destruction. Celes looked at the 'God' that stood before her without comprehending his meaning; it seemed that was all she did these days, not understanding a thing people say to her.

"What relic?" Celes looked around once more in case she missed something, but Fen'Harel definitely vanished and left nary a trace of anything behind. Celes sheathed her daggers and said, "What happened here?"

"We Were Betrayed," came a voice from her left. The goddess Mythal's slender form was brushing past Zevran, approaching Celes. "That Is Past. Now, You Must Hurry. There Are Others You Have To Set Free..."

"They Have A Right To Know," Celes whipped her neck to the voice's direction. _At last, someone who wants to explain._

"Yes. Tell us. Please." Zevran's sarcasm was tangible from his side of the hall.

The dark figure wore a hooded cape though the only things to be seen in the darkness under its hood were a pair of luminescent yellow eyes. As the figure came closer, Celes detected a subtle aroma of rotting flesh, urging her to reel backwards; but she stood her ground firmly as Valeria came up beside her. "This is Anaris, god of spite and pestilence. _It _is one of the forgotten ones. Be wary what you choose to believe, Warden."

Celes' brows knitted together and turned back to Anaris when it said, "Believe What You Will, But I Have No Desire Nor Reason To Deceive You."

Elgar'nan's teeth gritted together as he growled warningly, "Anaris..." He was stopped mid-sentence by June placing a hand on his broad shoulder.

"Your Makers Cult Led The World To Believe That His Arrogance Was The Only True God. But Our Presence Tells Otherwise. Our Brother Was Displeased By This And Broke Our Pact When He Persuaded Fen'Harel To Ally With Him In Defiance Of The Greater Good." Each word was accompanied by a long, pungent breath that was threatening to induce nausea. Celes swallowed the bile in her mouth as the creature finally fell quiet, and another continued in its place; while Elgar'nan stood trembling with anger on the side.

Geldauran, as Valeria called him, was a tall bloodied figure who looked like it used to be a bizarre conjoining of two elvhen bodies. Bits of red flesh hung from every inch of its body and it left behind a trail of blood when it walked and oozed the crimson liquid from its _lips_(_?_) as it spoke. "When Our Disappearance Failed To Persuade The Residents Of Thedas Of His Divine Ultimacy, He Took Matters Into His Own Hands..."

"That's Enough, Geldauran!" The Goddess Sylaise shouted, which made all eyes turn to her. "You Are Endangering Us All!"

"We... Need... Their... Help!" Anaris bellowed, which was responded to in turn by Elgar'nan raising his weapon and shouting, "At The Cost Of How Many Lives? You Would Not Dare!"

"He Cast Down The Darkspawn. You Need To Find The Others!" Anaris shouted rapidly, "He Plans To Kill – "

Suddenly, a bright light flashed from the middle of Anaris' form and the God of pestilence imploded in two. The light left such an impact that Celes lost her vision for a couple of seconds before the white started to fade and her vision returned.

By that time, a blood-curdling scream penetrated Celes' eardrums and left her ears ringing. She vaguely heard a few words from the various Gods and Goddesses around the room, mostly involving 'Relic' and 'Death', but she was pretty sure she heard the elf shout 'cleansing dreams' as well. They each burst into flames and she stared in horror, unable to approach them without being set ablaze as well. All this happened before Ioren stepped up beside her and pulled her away from the immolating God-Statues. The room was beginning to shake and common sense was screaming for them to leave the place.

The words formed on Zevran's lips read "Let's go!" and Valeria's were "Follow me!" And they ran for the surface as their lives depended on it. They surfaced several minutes later to be greeted by living trees – Sylvans – stomping about, waving their branches in actions that mimicked patting flames off clothing. The forest was aflame, and they did not like it.

Celes coughed and they crouched low to escape the deathly fumes. They cut their way through the flaming forest. In the frenzy, the sylvans attacked everything that moved, and in their escape, they sustained minor injuries from swipes by the sylvan branches they saw too late in the smoke. Valeria had ripped a piece of the bands that wound around her arms and was using it to cover her mouth, though she could have easily used a spell for that. Celes did the same, reckoning she was likely fatigued from the previous fight and had yet to recover from it, though outwardly, her wounds were healed. They had all expended much energy in the underground hall and were gradually slowing their pace during the escape, and the blazing embers were licking at their backs.

Eventually, they made it to the edge of the forest where the barrier threatened to keep them captive within the confines of the Arlathan forest. They knew not which direction they were facing, after running in random directions while fleeing the fire, and they were drained of all hope but to keep moving until they found a way out.

Finally, after scaling the forest edge, the group arrived at a point in the barrier where a couple of men and women dressed in similar odd robes as Valeria were poking at the barrier, the mouths forming 'ooh's and 'aah's at the red flames that seared at the shield between them.

And they found their exit.

* * *

Meanwhile, in an ornately decorated office, someplace far away, a bald elderly man in robes sensed a disturbance. He called in a young lad working in the building and said, "Declan." The young man bowed respectfully and stood before his senior, "Something has happened in Arlathan, I fear..." and they continued to talk in hushed tones. When the youth finally bowed once more and left the room, the old man sighed and sat down, massaging his smooth forehead. The migraines had returned.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Sorry for the hardly readable chapter that came out after a month. I've been stressing out recently over uni work and stuff, so this story just comes second nowadays. Wish I had more motivation..._

_Also, Celes' portrait is now on my avatar :) This is a friend's take on her appearance. Hope you guys like it. (Full size available through a click on my blog)_


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